The Night of the Dark Grave
by California gal
Summary: When a psychic sees Artie in his grave, Jim tries frantically to keep it from happening... and fails.


**THE NIGHT OF THE DARK GRAVE**

Time flies, Death urges, Knells call, Heaven invites, Hell threatens.

—_Night Thoughts _(night II, l. 291), Edward Young (1683-1765), English poet and dramatist

"If the Colonel's directions from here on out happen to be more accurate than the first portion, we could be there within an hour."

Jim West glanced at his partner riding alongside him, noticing the tinge of sarcasm in Artie's tone. "I wonder if he knew just how rough these hills are. I am sure he must have traveled to Lost Hills by a different direction."

Artie gazed around at the rugged region through which they were making their way. From a distance, as they had departed from the Wanderer where it was parked on a siding, the hills had appeared low and gentle. Only when one started the ascent toward the top, on the rough trails, did one realize just how harsh and craggy they were, full of boulders, ravines, and the occasional thick stand of trees or heavy brush. They had already made a couple of detours.

"Yeah, that may be why he said the entire trip should take us a total of an hour." They had been in the saddle for close to two hours already. "But I guess it'll be worth it to finally learn what this is about."

"Well, for Richmond to practically order us to join him on a family vacation, it must be something interesting." Jim reached for the canteen fastened to his saddle. "Be nice if we could run into some fresh water."

Artie just nodded. His own canteen was low. They had not brought extra because they did not expect the ride to take as long as it had. No streams or springs had appeared so far during the trek; most of the vegetation appeared to be the type that got on well without much moisture at this time of year.

After taking a couple of swallows, Jim returned the water vessel to his saddle, then pulled off his hat to wipe his shirt sleeve across his moist brow. The jacket had been shed early on. July in Wyoming was warm. He was just putting his hat back on when he glanced toward a higher rise to his left.

"Artie! Down!"

Artemus Gordon did not question his partner's command, immediately flinging himself out of the saddle, grabbing the rifle from its scabbard as he did so. He quickly followed Jim behind some nearby rocks, just as several shots echoed from above them and shards of stone splintered from their cover.

"Where is he?" Artie murmured, throwing his hat aside as he attempted to peer over the rocks from his crouching position.

"Not sure," Jim replied, also cautiously trying to see over the barricade without revealing too much of himself. "I saw the glint of the sun off metal next to that crooked pine."

Artie saw the tree in question, but no nearby movement. "Maybe he cleared out, knowing we spotted him."

Jim was looking around. Their horses had continued on down the trail, and now that no more shots were being fired, were standing quietly. "I think I can get around and behind that hill."

Artie frowned. "Be careful. If he's departing, you might just bump into him!"

"Right."

Artemus leveled his rifle on the top of the boulder, keeping it aimed at the spot described as Jim headed downhill slightly, keeping behind brush and rocks as much as possible. He waited until he was at least fifty feet away before crossing over and starting his ascent, aiming for the crooked pine tree. Halfway to his goal, he heard the sound of hoof beats retreating in the distance, and quickly climbed up onto a boulder to peer down below. With a grimace of disappointment, he jumped back down and made his way back to his partner.

"He skedaddled."

"Get a look at him?"

"Only that he was wearing a blue shirt and was riding a black and white pinto. Too far away to see much else."

Artie came to his feet then, picking up his hat. "Well, what in the world?" He beat the dust off his knees before putting the hat on his head.

Jim just shook his head as he led the way down the path toward the waiting horses. They were mounted and continuing warily onward before he finally spoke. "Got to wonder if this has anything to do with why the colonel invited us."

"My thoughts exactly. If this fellow were a road agent he would have tried to be closer to be able to stop us and do his robbing. Besides, this is an unlikely place for a thief to lay in wait. Can't be a busily traveled area! I can only believe he was trying to kill us, or at least discourage us from going any further."

"Failed on both counts."

"Seems so. Good thing you spotted him, however.'

Jim did not reply, and Artie saw by his partner's face that he too was probably considering the circumstances of their presence in Wyoming. A week ago they had finished an assignment in Idaho, just a few hundred miles away. They had known their commanding officer had taken his family on a trip west—and the reason for the journey.

Colonel James Richmond had a younger brother—a half-brother—the son of his father's second wife. The brother, Daniel, was some fifteen years younger; that they were not really close was not unexpected. However, they had known—primarily through the colonel's wife, Caroline—that James and Daniel had been estranged for many years, though even Caroline was not sure of the reasons. Daniel had emigrated west, married, and started a ranch. Daniel's wife had died, leaving him with their two children. At the time of her death, two years ago, Daniel had written to James and Caroline to inform them. Since then, a tentative correspondence had taken place, until finally, this summer, Daniel invited his older brother and family to visit the ranch.

At first James had been reluctant, but Caroline urged him to accept, and also asked Jim West to speak to the colonel. Jim had been estranged from his own older half-brother, and he could speak from experience that reconciling had been important to both of them. The colonel had finally acquiesced. Artie suspected that the three Richmond children might have had a hand in it as well. He knew they were excited about a cross-country trip and a visit to a real ranch.

The two agents had heard nothing from the colonel until the unexpected telegram. While the message was not exactly a command, the urgency was clear: "Please come to Lost Hills as soon as possible." After they had agreed, the colonel had telegraphed back instructions on how to find his brother's home.

And now this attempted ambush. Was it connected? The two agents had made many enemies in the course of their careers. The possibility existed that the shooter had been someone who spotted them and attempted to secure vengeance for some perceived "wrong" against him, or someone he knew. The odds were just as great that the ambush had something to do with the reason Colonel Richmond had asked them to come.

Upon starting the downward side of the hills, they saw that after traversing through a dry level area, similar to these hills, they would find broad green pastures, herds of cattle and some horses, and in the distance, structures. According to the colonel, the town of Lost Hills would be between them and the Rolling R. His brother's ranch was several miles beyond the town. Artie fervently hoped that the town had a restaurant, or at least a saloon where they might get some food. As with the water supply, they had not thought they would need extra. The sun was on its descent toward the west, and he was hungry.

Finding a road that appeared to trend toward the largest cluster of buildings, which they took to be the town perhaps five miles distant, the two agents picked up the pace. Even the horses appeared to welcome the relative ease of the flat road, without rocks and brush to contend with.

"Looks like a prosperous area," Jim commented as the horses cantered side-by-side.

Artie nodded. "According to Mrs. Richmond, Daniel has done quite well."

Jim was silent a moment. "The kind of area where someone might get greedy and want it all."

"That occurred to me," Artie concurred. "Do you suppose that's the trouble? Seems like local law could take care of it. Not really a federal case."

"I guess we'll find out," Jim returned.

To Artie's delight, the town of Lost Hills was home to not one, but two restaurants. One was next to the saloon and appeared to be associated with it; the other was a smaller place across and down the wide dusty street. By mutual consent, they chose the smaller one. The fact that it was named "Ma's Café" helped solidify Artie's decision. He hoped "Ma" was a good cook!

A jovial-appearing man whose girth suggested he enjoyed Ma's cooking came through a door in the rear as they seated themselves, the only customers at the moment. "Howdy, gents. Passing through? What'll it be? Ma has her famous chicken stew simmering, with dumplings you won't believe, on account of they're so light and fluffy! Or if you want, she'll heat up a steak and fried potatoes." He had graying reddish hair and bright blue eyes, along with a ruddy complexion and a warm welcoming smile.

"The chicken stew sounds fine," Artie said, and Jim nodded his agreement. "Maybe some coffee while we're waiting."

The man brought the cups of coffee and repeated his earlier question just as two more men entered the restaurant. "Passing through?" He gave the newcomers a sharp glance, but ignored them for the moment.

"Actually we're here to visit someone," Jim replied, not missing how the two that entered were scrutinizing the agents. Both men were wearing guns, and they looked like the type who knew how to use them. "Maybe you could give us directions to the Daniel Richmond spread."

Again the eyes of the rotund man darted toward the other pair momentarily, who had now seated themselves at the table next to that of the agents; however, he continued to ignore them as customers. "Why surely. Not difficult to find. Just keep traveling west out of town. You'll see a sign about five miles out at the lane to the Rolling R. Good place. Fine man, Dan Richmond."

Without another glance toward the other two men, the waiter went back through the rear door from which he had emerged. Jim cast a quizzical glance in his partner's direction, tipping his head slightly toward the other two men. Artie's return expression revealed he was just as puzzled. The two men were sitting quietly, though they were keeping their eyes on the two newcomers. Why had the waiter not even asked whether they wanted service?

The waiter returned with a large tray containing the bowls of steaming stew replete with the vaunted fluffy dumplings, fresh bread and butter, along with a jar of berry jam. "Oh, I think we made the right choice, James!" Artie enthused as he gazed upon the repast and inhaled its aroma.

"Does look good," Jim agreed.

"You won't find better west of St. Louis," the waiter beamed. "Enjoy yourselves." He again retreated to the back, still not offering service to the other customers.

They had just started eating when one of the two men got to his feet and stepped closer to their table. "What are you two doing in Lost Hills?" He was a slender man with curly dark hair and steely gray eyes.

Jim barely glanced up. "What's it to you?" He slathered berry jam on the slice of buttered bread.

"We like to keep this town nice and peaceful. Don't want troublemakers." Now the other man got up behind the first. Both allowed their hands to hover near the weapons holstered as their sides.

Now Artie asked, "Are you law officers?"

"Nope."

"We are," Jim said quietly.

The two men exchanged startled glances. "What kind of law!" the second man demanded. He was a bit older than the other, with a few silver threads in his dark blond hair.

"Federal," Artie replied icily. "And we're trying to enjoy our meal. Do you mind?"

The older of the two would have departed. He put a hand on his comrade's arm. But Curly shook it off. "I think you're lying!" he snarled. "Prove it!"

Artie started to reach inside his coat, but Jim raised a hand to stay him then got slowly to his feet, turning to face Curly. "What kind of proof do you want?"

Curly's eyes touched on Jim's right hand, which now dangled loosely near the black holster at his hip. "Well," Curly drawled, obviously enjoying a challenge, and sure of himself, "seems to me a federal man ought to be able to handle a gun." His own right hand moved a fraction then froze, as he found himself staring at the muzzle of Jim's gun.

Artie casually poked his fork into a chunk of chicken. "Is that proof enough, gentlemen?" he asked mildly.

"Come on, Curly," the older man said, this time grabbing his companion's arm. This time Curly did not shake loose. The two men departed. As they did, the waiter emerged from the kitchen door.

"Gentlemen, are you really federal lawmen?" he asked, coming to the table.

"We are," Jim replied as he resumed his chair. "Who were they?"

"They work for Farnley Greave."

"That name sounds familiar," Jim frowned, looking at his partner.

"I agree, but I can't recall why. Who is he?"

"A bully!" The sharp voice caused all three men to turn toward the kitchen door, where a very pretty woman emerged. She was attired in a calico dress with a stained white apron over it, reddish hair tied up in a bun, and flour smudges on her face. Her bluish-green eyes were flashing as she approached their table.

Jim and Artie came to their feet, as the man spoke again. "Gentlemen, the 'Ma' of this eating place, my daughter Madora. I'm Romney Price."

"You didn't seem all that afraid of those so-called 'bullies'," Artie commented after providing his and Jim's names.

Price chuckled. "I'm afraid I was taking advantage of the situation. They won't hurt us. Greave tries to court Ma, so he won't do anything to make her angry."

Madora Price had her eyes on Jim, but she shifted her gaze momentarily to her father. "As if I'd ever pair up with the likes of that… toad!"

Price leaned forward slightly. "Have you come to help?"

Artie exchanged a glance with his partner and saw that Jim was of the same mind. "We've been asked to come here by our supervisor, who's visiting his brother in this area."

"Dan Richmond's brother!" Madora exclaimed. "Estelle told me he worked for the government!"

"Estelle?" Jim echoed.

"She owns the hotel," Price supplied. "A good friend. I don't think Estelle mentioned that Dan's brother was in law enforcement."

"Tell us why this Greave sends bullies out to bother folks." Artie put forth.

"Because he thinks he owns us all," Madora snapped. "He's trying to own the whole area! Thinks that money is all it takes."

"Well, it's working," her father reminded her, then turned toward the agents. "He's bought up a lot of the land around here, and is pressuring others to sell. There've been some problems."

"Isn't there a local lawman?" Jim inquired.

Price sneered. "Walter Bird is our sheriff. About all he's good for is hauling in drunks!"

"Gentlemen," Madora urged, "please sit down and eat before your food gets cold."

"Thank you," Artie smiled, taking his chair. "Your father said this was the best chicken stew this side of Saint Louis, and I wholeheartedly agree."

Price beamed. "Ma's mother was a cook in a fine home in Saint Louis—where I was the butler. We came here and started this restaurant. We lost Cora two years ago, but Madora learned everything from her."

"We'll be talking to Colonel Richmond," Jim said then, "to find out what this is about. Chances are it involves this Greave."

"Good!" Romney Price responded. "And this meal is on the house, gentlemen. I don't think I ever saw Curly so shocked!"

W*W*W*W*W

Never confide your secrets to paper; it is like throwing a stone in the air; and if you know who throws the stone, you do not know where it may fall.

—Pedro Calderon de la Barca (1600-1681), Spanish dramatist

"Jim, do you suppose that this Greave found out we were coming and set that ambush for us? Not to mention Curly and his pal in the restaurant." They were riding west out of town after completing the excellent meal and talking to Mr. Price and his daughter further.

"I suppose that's a possibility, but we need more information. Curly appeared surprised to learn we were federal officers, however. Could be he just likes to challenge strangers. Seemed the type. Cannot figure out why the name Farnley Greave sounds familiar. It's an unusual name."

"I know. I can't place it either. But isn't it strange that the Colonel would call us to get involved in what is apparently a local dispute? I realize his brother is being troubled, according to what Price said. But still…" Artie looked across at his partner, puzzled.

"Yeah, I agree. We'll find out when we get to the Richmond ranch. This area is not nearly as dry as that stretch of hills we passed through would indicate. I'm sure access to good water is important, and the best way to insure that is to own all the land." They had already crossed two streams and a creek since leaving the hills. "Of course, it's entirely possible that Mr. Price has a grudge of some sort against Greave."

"Possible, yes," Artie agreed, "but not likely. Not after those two characters interrupted our meal. Can't imagine what they thought they were going to accomplish."

"That's easy," Jim smiled. "To scare us out of town."

"Huh! Seems they have that in common with the bushwhacker. They failed. Now what?"

"Very good question. Can't wait to find out the answer from Colonel Richmond."

As Price had told them, the Richmond ranch was about five miles out of town, where a sign on the main road guided them to a lane leading to the "Rolling R" ranch. After a short stretch on a narrow rutted road, a cluster of buildings appeared, including a large two-story house as well as a sturdy barn and other outbuildings.

As they approached the house, two figures that had been sitting on the front porch swing rose to peer at them. The taller of the pair let out a whoop as he jumped down all three steps to sprint out toward the fence that enclosed the house and grounds.

"Mr. West! Mr. Gordon! You're here!" Bradley Richmond got the gate open and could barely wait for the two men to dismount before he was grabbing their hands to shake them.

The second figure was a boy of about ten, much fairer than the darker Bradley. His eyes were wide as he came to the gate. "Is that them, Brad?"

Bradley turned. "It's them, Nathan. Mr. Gordon, Mr. West, this is my cousin, Nathan."

Jim stepped forward, extending his hand. "How do you do, Nathan. It's a pleasure to meet you."

The boy's eyes got even wider as he gripped Jim's hand. "Gosh!"

Artemus was shaking Nathan's hand when Colonel Richmond emerged from the house, accompanied by a younger version of him in all but hair and eyes. The other man's locks were quite blond, and his eyes were sky blue, just like the boy's. The colonel extended his hand as he passed through the gate.

"Thanks for coming."

"What's this all about, Colonel?" Artie asked.

"I'll tell you inside. Gentlemen, my brother, Daniel. Dan, Jim West and Artemus Gordon."

Again hands were shaken, and the two Richmond brothers led the way inside, the two younger males following. In a spacious front room, Caroline Richmond and her two daughters, Elizabeth and Marian, had warm greetings, and they were introduced to young Annie, again with golden blonde hair and blue eyes.

Jim and Artemus politely refused the meal Mrs. Richmond offered to prepare, mentioning they had eaten in town, whereupon they were informed that Mr. Price and his daughter were friends of Daniel Richmond, as they had surmised. A brief discussion of the excellent fare at the eatery ensued. Then Caroline ushered the younger females from the room—all of them reluctantly. Marian and Elizabeth had long been infatuated with Jim West, and now eight-year-old Annie could not take her gaze off Mr. West's partner. Bradley and Nathan retreated to the front porch again.

Alone, Daniel Richmond poured whiskey and served it and the four men settled in. Jim began the conversation by telling the Richmond brothers of the attempted ambush as well as the confrontation in the restaurant. "Mr. Price said they worked for a man named Greave."

"We've been trying to figure out where we've heard that name before," Artie added.

Colonel Richmond smiled. "Not surprising it sounds familiar. Perhaps you read about it in a newspaper. However, you two were not in Washington in the autumn of 1863. Farnley Greave was an assistant to the Secretary of War, and was indicted for selling secret information to the Confederacy. By the time his trial came up, the witnesses had been killed or disappeared, or in one case, simply refused to testify. As well, evidence was destroyed."

"Ah," Artie was nodding his head. "I do remember now. The case had to be dismissed."

"Exactly. No evidence was ever produced linking Greave with the fates of the witnesses, however obvious it was. Greave left Washington and went up into Canada. But a couple of years ago, he showed up here and bought up some land."

Daniel Richmond spoke then. "At first he simply seemed to be a new—even a good—neighbor. He bought more property but nothing much was thought about it, because the owners appeared willing to sell. He then began to pressure others, including me, refusing to take no for an answer."

"What kind of pressure, Mr. Richmond?" Jim asked. _This still doesn't feel like a federal case; more as though the colonel is asking us to intervene in something personal, which isn't like James Richmond._

"Little things," Daniel replied. "For the most part, anyway; things that could be accidents. The neighboring spread had an earthen dam in which runoff was collected. The dam collapsed in the middle of summer, just when the water was really needed. Floyd had to sell off cattle at a bad time of year, not getting the best price, and eventually was defaulting on his mortgage. He sold out to Greave rather than lose everything. No proof that the collapse was anything but natural—at least according to our good sheriff, Walter Bird, who is pretty much terrified of Greave."

"That's just one of many things I've heard about," the colonel put in. "Greave appears to be another power hungry rascal who wants to become a major force in the beef industry, and who will do anything to attain that end."

"What's happened to you, Mr. Richmond?" Artie asked. "I take it you've had some problems."

Daniel Richmond looked down at the drink he held for a moment then lifted his gaze. "I believe he was responsible for my wife's death."

A short silence ensued as West and Gordon exchanged a surprised glance. Then Artie asked quietly, "How did she die?"

Richmond cleared his throat and took a sip of his whiskey before speaking. "Mary Beth was an excellent rider. She had been around horses since she was a child. The gelding she favored was spirited, but never gave her a bit of a problem. She also liked to go out riding alone, and I knew it was something that meant a great deal to her, so even after the children came, I'd make a point to be home to be with them while she went out." He smiled slightly. "She refused to have a housekeeper or any kind of help even though I would have hired someone for her. I've carried on that way. I have a woman who comes a couple times a week to clean and do the laundry but I care for my children myself. Anyway, one day she did not return… I went out to look for her, never suspecting… I found her on the ground, with her horse grazing nearby. She had been thrown, apparently, and hit her head."

"That happens," Jim said, looking him straight in the eye. "The best of us get thrown."

Daniel Richmond met that gaze. "Yes. That's what the sheriff said. Nothing was done. The rock she apparently hit her head on was nearby."

"And…?" Artie prompted, knowing there was more to it.

"Plainly the rock had been moved. I saw an indentation some half dozen feet away from where it was found laying beside her, an indentation that the rock fit into perfectly. Someone had picked it up and moved it… perhaps even used it… on her."

The four men were silent again, until finally Jim spoke quietly. "Colonel, I am very sympathetic toward your brother, especially regarding his wife's death. And to the other people around here for the troubles they might be experiencing. Excuse me, sir, but how does this involve the Secret Service?"

James Richmond met the agent's steady green-eyed gaze unswervingly. _I could say, because I said so._ He almost did that, just to see their reaction, to see what they would do. "I did some investigation into Greave's activities in Canada these last years. Remember the incident with Shawn O'Reilly and Andre Durain, the insurrection theywere planning? Canada suspects that Farnley Greave was active in helping finance that little gambit. Authorities in Canada would be very happy to have him back there to face an investigation. As you know, however, O'Reilly was killed, and Durain was later hanged, a revolutionary to the end, refusing to finger other co-conspirators in the plot. The authorities haven't the proof they need to petition for extradition."

Artemus frowned deeply. "And you expect us to find that proof… here?"

The colonel's smile was tight. "The Mounties gave me a bit of information that might be very handy. Greave has a very bad habit for a man in his… profession. He keeps detailed journals of his activities, his contacts and their conversations. With those journals, both the United States and Canada would probably have ample evidence for convictions on several fronts."

"How did they find out about these journals?" Jim asked.

Now Richmond sobered. "They had a spy in Greave's group. She told them about the journals but was murdered, and Greave left the area, before they could do anything. Again they don't have enough evidence for extradition."

"_She?_" Jim echoed.

"Yes, a young woman who became Greave's mistress for the express purpose of gaining this type of evidence. She was an American whose brother was to have been a witness in the treason case in sixty-three. When her brother refused to back down, he was killed."

"So…" Artie spoke slowly, softly, his gaze shifting to the younger Richmond brother, "it appears Greave would have no compunctions about harming a woman."

"Does Miss Price know about this?" Jim inquired.

Daniel Richmond nodded. "She does now, because of the information James provided after he arrived here. But she had already rebuffed Greave's advances, only partly because she knew of my suspicions regarding Mary Beth. Ma was Mary Beth's friend. I should tell you that Greave made approaches to Mary Beth, which she refused, of course. I once had a confrontation with him at a social because he was bothering her. I… I have to wonder if that played a part in her death. It's possible she met him on the trail and…" Daniel took a breath. "We did not find signs of an another rider in the vicinity, but it was a rocky area."

The men were silent a long moment before Artie posed a question. "Was there some way Greave could have learned that you summoned us, Colonel?"

The colonel nodded, grimacing. "I had to use the telegraph operator in town. According to Daniel, he's on Greave's payroll."

"Is the sheriff also one of Greave's men, or simply incompetent?" Jim wanted to know.

Daniel shook his head. "I am not certain, but I think it's the latter. Bird was elected some fifteen years ago, and reelected several times, primarily because he has been able to handle what little has been needed. I think he is influenced by Greave, but more by fear than money. Bird has a nice wife and two daughters who are married to local men. One has a small place over near the hills, and the other is the owner of the feed and grain in town. Neither has had any problems with Greave, and some think it's because Bird leaves Greave alone."

"So, Colonel," Artie gazed at his superior, "how in the devil do you expect us to find these journals?"

James Richmond did not smile, though he felt like it. "With some of your usual tricks."

"Here he goes again," Jim sighed, "throwing us to the wolves without any regard to our health."

"And he keeps refusing our requests for a pay raise!" Artie cried melodramatically.

Daniel Richmond watched the trio. He had heard about the department's two best agents a long time ago, and when James had spoken about the two men, he discerned the affection and respect his brother had for the pair. He could now see that West and Gordon had that same respect and affection for their superior.

"Tell you what," the colonel retorted sarcastically, "you get this done and I'll see if I can't give you a day off. Maybe even two." He shook his head slightly. "I know, I know. Every time you try to take time off you somehow run into trouble. We'll see." Richmond sobered then. "I wish I could have talked to you personally before you arrived in this area and we could have planned something."

Artie knew what he meant. Had they known the situation ahead of time, perhaps he could have devised a disguise that might have given him access to Greave's inner circle. That could still happen, but it would be more difficult; Greave had undoubtedly already learned that two Secret Service agents were in the area. If he had had any communication with Durain after the anarchist's arrest, he might be aware that Artemus Gordon had used not one, but two disguises to help destroy the plot for an insurrection in Canada.

"We may just have to play it by ear," Jim said, "and see what happens. If Greave knows that you sent for us, he'll know that we are not merely visitors."

"We already had some action," Artie reminded them. "So it appears our presence is worrisome to someone. Colonel, you have not been… bothered, have you?"

"Not at all. I met Greave in town and he was perfectly cordial, behaving as though he had nothing to worry about from a government official. I suspect he's pretty sure of himself. He's gotten away with two major schemes already."

"Then it seems to me," Artie stated, "that it would be a good idea for Jim and me to establish our official presence. I saw a hotel in town…"

"We have plenty of room for you here," Daniel interrupted.

"Thank you, sir," Jim returned, "but Artie is right. We need to push it a little, start asking questions. To let Greave know that we are not simply visiting—which as Artie mentioned, he already suspects. Above all, we need to draw attention away from those of you here at the ranch." He cast a significant glance toward the door through which Caroline and the three girls had gone.

"Speaking of which," the colonel sighed, "I'm sure that Caroline is chomping at the bit to spend some time with you two, not to mention my lovesick daughters and admiring son."

Daniel smiled. "Mr. Gordon, do not allow Annie to intimidate you. Ever since James told her that you were once an actor and how you disguise yourself as part of your work, she has been anxious to meet you. Her dream—right now—is to become an actress. She will be pestering you with questions."

Artie laughed as the four men got to their feet. "Don't worry. I'm used to fending off admiring females. Right, Jim?"

"All but one named Lily," Jim grinned back.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent pleasantly with the family members. As predicted, young Annie stuck by Artie's side as she devoured anything he could tell her about his former profession, while bombarding him with questions. He was patient and also honest, describing the long rehearsals, the failures as well as the successes. He was actually a little surprised with just how much she already knew about the world of acting, and when asked, Annie told him that a friend of her mama's had been an actress. She now lived in Lost Hills and owned the hotel. Artie realized that would be the lady that the Prices mentioned.

Jim West also had a close following for the afternoon, primarily the Richmond daughters. He liked to tease them and even flirt a little, enjoying the roses that bloomed in their cheeks as he did so. He had known both girls since they had been about Annie's age, so they were more like kid sisters, although he was quite aware they did not now look upon him as a big brother!

Bradley gave him some respite by asking him to come out and look at a horse he had acquired since coming to visit. Jim was able to honestly praise the steed, a cream-colored appaloosa with dark gold spots, mane and tail, which pleased Bradley immensely. They were standing by the corral fence when Marian emerged from the house and strolled toward them, a lacy parasol protecting her head from the warm sun.

Jim always thought it interesting that Marian was a near duplicate of her lovely mother physically, but seemed little like her in personality. Caroline was a strong woman, with an independent streak; that facet had given her the courage to defy her southern roots to marry a Yankee lieutenant so many years ago, and to travel north with him. Elizabeth resembled her father with somewhat blunter features, but her demeanor was more spirited, similar to her mother's.

Marian slipped in between her brother and Jim, and behind her, Bradley rolled his eyes. Jim simply smiled at the young woman. "It's nice to see you again, Miss Richmond." As the girls had matured, but he and Artie had adopted a more formal form of address, both realizing it could help avoid future complications.

She made a little moue with her pretty mouth. "Why, Mr. West, you'd think we were strangers!" On the other hand, the Richmond children had always addressed the two agents with the formal title, although Jim was sure that Marian, at least, would like to be invited to be much more familiar!

Jim winked. "Don't forget, your father is my boss!"

She sighed, fluttering her eyelashes a little too strongly. "But we have known each other for so long!"

"That's so true," he responded. "Since you were in pigtails and pinafores… and had freckles!"

She did not care for the reference to her awkward childhood, but before she could respond, her brother intervened. "Mr. West, I hope you will have an opportunity to go riding with me, perhaps even ride my horse yourself. I value your opinion. 

"I hope we do have the opportunity," Jim nodded, turning his attention to the spirited gelding that was prancing around the corral, obviously showing off. "Are you planning to take him east with you?"

"I'm not sure. Uncle Dan has offered to keep him here for me. I do intend to visit, often. But… I haven't made up my mind yet."

Marian looked at her brother. "But you're going to be a lawyer, not live in the… the back country!"

Bradley smiled. "What better place to build a career that in an area where attorneys are scarce?"

"Good idea," Jim nodded.

Marian jumped on the bandwagon. "Why of course! And who knows… perhaps I'll find a fine western gentleman to marry and settle out here as well." Again she fluttered her lashed at Jim.

Jim prevented himself from laughing, taking her arm and suggesting they return to the house, out of the hot sun. Marian was clinging happily to his arm as they approached the front porch, where Elizabeth had just emerged, and now glared at her sister. She quickly sat down on the glider and invited Mr. West to join her. Mr. West avoided confrontation by saying he needed to talk to the colonel again.

Finally, after a fine supper prepared by the ladies, the two agents mounted up to return to town. Caroline tried to persuade them to stay, but after her husband spoke quietly to her, she understood. The younger Richmonds did not, however, and were very disappointed, despite both agents promised they would return as soon and as often as possible.

"Aunt Caroline," Annie turned to Mrs. Richmond as they stood on the porch watching the two men ride off, "does Mr. Gordon really have a sweetheart?"

"Yes, he does. I believe he showed you her picture. A very lovely lady, Lily Fortune, the famous actress."

"Oh." Great disappointment washed over Annie's countenance for a moment. Then she brightened. "Well, she's going to be old soon, and I'm sure Mr. Gordon will want a new sweetheart, won't he?"

Caroline bit back her smile. "Only time will tell, dear. Now, will you help me put the dishes away?"

W*W*W*W*W

Reaching town, the two agents rode directly to the two-story building they had previously noticed, bearing the sign "Traveler's Rest Hotel." The outside was well kept up, and when they dismounted and entered, they found that the interior was also neat and clean, if a bit faded. The sofa at one side of the lobby was covered with a knit afghan, perhaps to disguise some of its wear.

A woman was behind the tall desk, her back to them as she apparently was sorting something on a small table there. They could see graying auburn hair and a slender form. She turned then, and both men stopped in their tracks staring, as she in turn gaped back at them in utter surprise. She was the one who finally spoke first, stepping closer to the counter. "Mr. Gordon? Mr. West?"

Artie found his voice. "Phalah! This is astonishing!" They moved closer to the desk. "You work here?"

The older woman smiled. "My niece owns this hotel. Her willingness to give me a home, and a job, as well as your recommendations for leniency, allowed me to be released early. I've been here about six months now."

Artemus reached out and touched the hand she had rested on the desktop. "You deserve it, Phalah. You helped us a great deal, and probably saved Jim's life."

Sadness shadowed her eyes now. "I was a foolish old woman to…" She could not seem to continue; perhaps unable to mention the man she had been in love with, Dr. Articulus.

"You were merely human," Jim said gently. Although the shot she fired when Articulus was savagely attacking Jim had not been fatal, it had caused the mad doctor to tumble into the pool of his own diabolical formula for creating mindless zombies that would have filled his army of conquest. By his own admission, once a person was submerged in that cesspool, he was lost. Jim was wondering now whether he had imagined he saw Phalah react when Artemus touched her hand.

She seemed to take a mental breath. "Well, that's neither here nor now. I'm quite settled and very happy here with Estelle. Are you visiting someone here? Or is it business. Perhaps I shouldn't be so nosy…"

Artie laughed. "We are visiting, in a sense. Our boss is here spending some time with his brother at the Rolling R ranch."

"Oh, of course! Colonel Richmond and his family! I met them at Ma's. Such lovely people! And Daniel Richmond is a pillar of the community." A frown creased her still smooth brow. "Are you here to deal with Mr. Greave?"

"Don't worry, it won't involve you, Phalah," Jim reassured her as the door to the side of the lobby desk opened and a younger woman appeared.

She had the auburn hair and slenderness of her aunt, but her eyes were green-gray rather than dark brown, her face slightly rounder. Not a truly beautiful woman in the classic sense, but quite attractive, in her early thirties, Jim thought. Phalah glanced around.

"Estelle! You remember I told you about the government agents who were so unusually kind to me? This is Mr. James West and Mr. Artemus Gordon. They are here visiting the Richmonds. Gentlemen, my dear niece, Miss Estelle McCray."

Estelle smiled brightly, extending her hand over the desk to each of them. "This is wonderful! Aunt Phalah told me all about you two. We are extremely grateful to you for being so generous."

"As we were just telling Phalah," Artie put in, "we are the grateful ones. She helped us immensely. We merely told the judge the truth." This would be the woman, he realized, whom Annie stated had been an actress. She had an interesting face, and an aura of self-confidence.

"Are you here for rooms?" Estelle asked then, appearing a bit puzzled.

_She must realize that Daniel Richmond has a large home_, Artie surmised. "We are," he said aloud. "We feel we would be better situated here in town."

The two women exchanged a glance, but did not comment further. They were obviously aware of the problems in the area, especially if they were acquainted with both the Prices at the restaurant and the owner of the Rolling R. Without further ado, the agents registered, and Estelle escorted them upstairs to the side-by-side rooms, laughingly explaining that the hotel was not crowded.

"Most of our business comes from people who need to make a switch of stagecoaches here. One comes in on Wednesday each week, going north, and another arrives Thursday, heading west. The following week they go through in different directions. So those people stay overnight, or sometimes a little longer."

The rooms, like the lobby, were worn but clean. Jim threw his saddlebags and blanket roll on the bed then went to the adjoining door, opening it but not entering, leaning against the frame. "This is an interesting situation."

Artie glanced around. He was already stowing his gear in the small bureau below the mirror. A porcelain basin and pitcher rested atop the bureau. "You mean Phalah turning up here, or the situation with Greave?"

"Maybe both. No connection, of course. I'm just not sure how the colonel expects us to get those journals he talks about." Jim did not want to mention the reaction he thought he perceived in Phalah as Artie touched her hand; it might have been his imagination.

Artie's smile was ironic. "Yeah. It's not like we're burglars or anything." They had done their share of breaking and entering during their careers. "I guess we're going to need to ride out to visit Greave."

Jim nodded. "It's an odd state of affairs," he murmured, turning back into his room. He was pulling items from his own saddlebags when Artie came to the doorway, imitating his partner in leaning against the jamb.

"Maybe we should go talk to Greave about his employees accosting customers in the restaurant."

Jim glanced over, smiling slightly. "Be a start, I guess. Introduce ourselves, so to speak. Perhaps mention our surprise that we were greeted that way, not to mention the attempted ambush in the hills."

"That might be the way to go, James my boy, unless we come up with something better. Shall we go first thing in the morning?"

"Sounds like a good plan. Perhaps an evening in the local tavern might produce some information as well."

"Not to mention a smooth bourbon or perhaps a cold beer!"

Estelle McCray had informed them the hotel had a stable in the rear, but no one to tend the horses; they would have to do it themselves. The alternative was the livery and blacksmith shop on the other side of town. They decided they would prefer to have their horses close at hand, so once they finished putting their own gear away, the two men took their steeds from the street to the stable, and got them settled and fed.

From there, after washing up, they strolled down the board walkways to the saloon with a sign proclaiming it the "Dixie Bell." Neither was surprised when they entered to see the Confederate Stars and Bars and portraits of noted Confederate personalities on the walls. The tables were about half filled, primarily by townsmen, it appeared. Only a few of them had the look of a cowhand.

At the bar, a bartender with a scowling countenance served them whiskey and took their money. As they walked toward a vacant table with their drinks, Artie glanced back and noticed that the barkeeper continued to scowl as he refilled the glass of another customer. _At least it's not personal_, he mused.

A few minutes later, a man descended some stairs at the far side of the room, his eyes scanning the customers. Upon spotting newcomers, he strolled toward them immediately, exchanging greetings with other patrons as he passed by them. _Looks like a riverboat gambler_, Jim decided. _He could put Frank Harper to shame!_ The man was tall and slender, with a neatly trimmed dark goatee and mustache, his hair slicked back with pomade. He wore a swallowtail coat in pinstripes and matching trousers, finely tailored, and his ascot was decorated with a tiepin bearing what appeared to be a fairly large ruby.

"Gentlemen," he greeted, and his Deep South accent was immediately evident with the one word. "Welcome to the Dixie Bell. Traveling far?"

Artie smiled. "What makes you think we're traveling?"

The man chuckled, pulled out a chair and sat down. "I'm Romney Bellingham, proprietor of the Dixie Bell. I take it you two are the ones I heard about earlier, Mr. West and Mr. Gordon. Mr. West, I understand you outdrew Curly Lonergan. Not an easy feat."

"Nice to know our fame precedes us," Jim commented, taking a sip of his drink. "You stock fine whiskey, Mr. Bellingham."

"Only the best, sir. Only the best, especially for gentlemen of the reputation you two have."

"You've heard of us?" Artie inquired. "Only the good parts, I hope."

Bellingham laughed. "Oh, indeed! The sad part is, you're Yankees."

"Accident of birth," Jim drawled.

Now the saloon owner threw his head back and laughed even harder. "True enough. If your mama and daddy had had the good sense to move to, say, Georgia… who knows, history might have been different." He leaned forward and put his elbows on the able. "You in town on business?"

"I expect that's our business," Artie replied pleasantly.

"I'm sure you are right. I'm just naturally nosey. Got to wonder if it doesn't have something to do with Farnley Greave."

Jim glanced at his partner before speaking. "What do you know about him?"

"Mostly that he throws his weight around pretty good. Doesn't like people to say no to him, especially women."

"You're speaking of Miss Price?" Artie asked.

"Her and a couple others. I had a lady working here—a real lady, named Leona. She sang and talked to the boys and that was about it. Everyone loved her. When Greave came into town, he decided he wanted something more than singing and talking. She said no… and disappeared."

"Left, you mean?" Jim inquired.

Bellingham's gaze grew dark. "No. She would not have left without telling me. She knew I would help her all I could. She just disappeared." He leaned further forward, his voice dropping to just above a whisper. "I think Greave killed her, or had her killed."

Again the agents exchanged a glance. "We did hear a rumor," Artie put in, "that he might have been responsible for the death of a woman in Canada. Don't suppose you have anything more than suspicion going for you."

With a noisy sigh, Bellingham leaned back. "If I'd had any kind of proof, I'd have made sure that stupid sheriff of ours did something about it, if only to send for a U.S. marshal or something."

"Wonder if that could be our opening," Artie murmured.

Jim nodded. "Mr. Bellingham, would you mind telling us all you know about Leona and her connection with Greave—what you witnessed between them, the last time you saw her, anything that might point toward Greave?"

W*W*W*W*W

The surest way of making a dupe is to let your victim suppose you are his.

— Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer-Lytton, 1st Baron Lytton (1803-1873), English novelist and politician

The following morning after breakfast at Ma's—a meal that had Artemus speculating about purchasing a home in the town just so he could eat Madora's cooking for every meal—they saddled up and headed out. Romney Bellingham had given them directions to the Greave ranch, as well as a great deal more information. The problem was how much of that information they could use. They were not authorized to investigate a local murder—not even the disappearance of a local woman.

Artie was the one who had come up with a possible solution, and Jim agreed it was worth a try. They rode directly up to the big white house—a home larger than that of Daniel Richmond—ignoring the men who moved out to watch them arrive. One of those men was Curly, and his glare was throwing daggers toward Jim in particular. But no one made a threatening move; they just watched.

As the agents dismounted and walked toward the porch, a man emerged from the front door. "Something I can do for you gents?" He was a stocky man with a mane of white hair, clean-shaven except for a fringe of whiskers outlining his strong jaw. The jaw and beard accented his frosty gray eyes as he peered at them. He was attired in a perfectly tailored gray suit with maroon piping that matched the gleaming brocade vest under the coat, and his shirt collar was spotlessly white.

Artemus stepped forward slightly, pulling off his hat and clearing his throat. "Mr. Greave? My name is Artemus Gordon and this is my partner, Jim West. We are…" He tried to appear ill at ease.

"I know. Government agents." The eyes narrowed slightly. _These two are supposedly very clever. But I've dealt with clever men before… and bested them easily._

"Yes, sir. We apologize for interrupting your morning," Jim spoke politely as he jerked off his own hat and fingered it somewhat self-consciously. "I'm afraid we're under orders."

"What kind of orders?"

Again Artie cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Mr. Greave, as you may know, Colonel Richmond of the Secret Service is visiting in this area."

"I heard that." The obvious unease of the pair was drawing Greave's interest. _Maybe I had the wrong suspicions about their presence in this area…_

Artie glanced nervously at Jim and continued. "Well, he's our superior, and he ordered us to come here to look into some information he had."

Greave looked at them for a long moment. Plainly he was wary, but also curious. Finally he stepped back. "Why don't you come inside? I have fresh coffee."

"Thank you, sir," Jim said quickly, trying to display some relief. The whole idea was to make Greave believe they had come unwillingly, reluctant to hassle a leading citizen with what was probably a wild goose chase.

He led them through a foyer with polished hardwood floors into a parlor where the floor was covered with what appeared to be genuine Turkish carpeting, along with other appointments that were clearly very expensively purchased. Greave waved them to chairs as he pulled a bell rope inside the door before taking a plush easy chair. A moment later, a middle-aged woman appeared and Greave ordered coffee.

"What is it that brings you gentlemen here this morning?" he asked then.

One more time Artie performed that nervous-sounding throat clearing. "We're told that you were acquainted with a woman named Leona who worked in the Dixie Bell."

That wariness even more evident now. "I recall a woman of that name."

Jim took it up. "You see, Mr. Greave, a man in Washington—a very, er, well-placed man, has been looking for his niece for some time now. Her name was Leona. Colonel Richmond, after hearing this woman's name, asked for her description, and she sounds a great deal like Leona Darwin. We've been told she apparently left this area. We were hoping that, because you were… friendly with her, she might have given you some indication of where she went from here." He kept his gaze direct and, he hoped, guileless.

The housekeeper returned with a gleaming silver coffee service, replete with exquisite china cups, and a plate of small cinnamon rolls. She served silently, expression never changing. Her task completed, she placed the coffee server on the silver tray and departed.

"Excellent coffee," Artie murmured after tasting his. It was as good as anything he had ever been served in New York or Paris.

Greave leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He seemed relaxed and confident now. "Leona," he said. "A lovely lady. Not entirely to my taste in femininity, but charming nonetheless. Her greatest asset was her singing voice. I told her that she could do very well in a larger venue, such as San Francisco or even Montreal. She spoke French, as you may know, and could sing in it as well." He appeared not to notice that he used the past tense.

Artie cocked his head. "So you think she may have gone somewhere like that?" He sounded hopeful.

"It's possible. I also know she was concerned that Bellingham wouldn't let her go. Not that she had a contract with him, as I understood it. I was not surprised to hear that she slipped away one night."_ Plainly these two are out of their depths; tracking missing women is not what they usually do. I should be able to make fools of them easily. Chasing bank robbers is nothing like dealing with Farnley Greave. Durain forewarned me. I won't be duped as he was. Perhaps I was hasty in sending Colgan and Lonergan after them. However, I don't believe I'll rescind my orders just yet._

Artie nibbled on one of the cinnamon rolls. "We spoke to Mr. Bellingham. He expressed surprise that she would have left so suddenly. She seemed happy there."

Greave smiled. "I suppose she was—until she realized she was destined for bigger and better things. I wouldn't be surprised that she's in a big city, making good money—and under a different name."

Jim sighed. "You are probably right. Only problem is, we're going to have to have more information, more proof. The Senator—I mean Leona's uncle, isn't going to be satisfied otherwise. I hope you don't mind if we talk to you further at another time about this. Perhaps you'll remember more about your conversations with Leona Darwin."

The smile widened. "Anytime, gentlemen. Feel free to call at any time." _That was easy. These simpletons won't bother me again. And if they do… I'll handle them just as easily. Or bury them._

W*W*W*W*W

"What do you think?" Jim asked as they turned from the lane to the Greave ranch onto the main road toward town.

"I think he believes he convinced us," Artie replied. "Or else he is onto our little dodge and was playing us along." He grimaced. "Did you notice anything useful?"

"Yeah. The door across from the parlor was ajar. I'm pretty sure it's an office or study. If he has journals, they could be in there."

"Makes sense. But did you also observe all the men wearing guns?"

Jim smiled slightly. "Yeah, I noticed that too."

"Wonder if Greave puts out nighttime guards."

"If he didn't before, he's liable to now—especially if he does know we were fibbing about our presence here."

Artie was silent a long moment then glanced at his partner. "You know, he could be responsible for the deaths of at least three women."

"I've thought about that. If so, it's a good indication of the type of man he is. Nothing stands in his way."

"Especially if one considers the witnesses he either intimidated or had killed in Washington. Not a nice character at all. Makes one wonder if he'd stop at harming children."

Colonel Richmond nodded grimly when Artemus brought this up. "Yes, that has definitely occurred to me. I've tried to convince Mrs. Richmond to take the children and return home. But as I'm sure you are aware, that's like trying to persuade the Mississippi River to flow north instead of south!"

The two agents smiled. They were aware of the strength of Caroline Richmond's will. The three were in the small room at the Rolling R that Daniel used for his office, a sparely furnished space with a desk and chairs, as well as a couple of cabinets containing business papers. Daniel had offered it to them when he realized the three government men wanted to speak privately, although it was obvious he wanted to be involved.

"I suppose the best we can do," Jim said quietly, "is to try to ensure that none of them travel off the ranch alone."

"I find it difficult to believe that Greave could have thought that murdering Mary Beth Richmond would have convinced your brother to sell out and leave," Artie commented.

"It's possible that if indeed Greave was responsible for Mary Beth's death, it had more to do with her refusal of him than anything else. But he also could have believed Dan would be more willing to sell out. He certainly came to renew his offer within a short while after her death. However, there's a bit of stubbornness on the Richmond side as well," The colonel smiled briefly, then grew somber. "Some men might have given up. Not Dan. Do you have any ideas about how to get Greave's journals?"

Artie shook his head. "It's a large house. Jim spotted what is probably an office, but there's no guarantee they are in there. Plus, he must have twenty-five or thirty men out there… all carrying guns."

The colonel's brows lifted. "That hasn't stopped you before."

Jim sighed. "Yes, sir."

Richmond shook his head then, smiling. "I'm not suggesting you barge in with guns blazing. Artemus, have you considered using a disguise?"

"Yes, I have. But it's tricky. Chances are good that Greave knows about my impersonations and might be watching for me. I think our best bet for now is to continue to cultivate Greave, pretending that we are indeed looking for this Leona Darwin. If we press it hard enough, he may begin to relax, to stop worrying we're here for any other purpose."

"Something that concerns me," the colonel said then, "is that Greave has been very quiet of late. Not merely during the few weeks I've been here, but according to Daniel, for some time before that."

"Is it possible he's realized he's not going to succeed?" Jim asked, then quickly shook his head and answered his own question. "Not if he's all his reputation says he is. He's not going to give up that easily."

"Colonel, how long ago did you notify your brother you were coming?" Artie inquired.

Richmond nodded slowly, comprehending. "Several months back. So he may have mentioned the impending visit of his federal lawman brother and…"

"And Greave pulled back," Artie finished. "Then he learned _we_ were coming and started getting worried, sent someone to bushwhack us. Wonder who that bushwhacker was? Must have been someone Greave had confidence in… someone who has a reputation."

"We need to find out more about the men working for him," Jim nodded. "Any familiar names, or even those not familiar, we can wire to headquarters for information… in code." Colonel Richmond was not as adept in using the department's codes, as were the agents.

"I suspect the best place to get that information is from Bellingham," Artie said. "Unless the sheriff can be persuaded to assist."

Richmond shook his head doubtfully. "Don't count on that. As Dan said, Bird may be honest, but he's also a frightened man. Even when I was first introduced to him, he was on edge until he became aware that I was here on a family visit. Of course, that was before I knew much about Greave and his activities."

"We haven't met Sheriff Bird yet," Artie commented. "Might be good to get acquainted."

Much to the delight of the younger Richmonds, the agents remained at Rolling R for the midday meal. They had learned that although Dan Richmond usually prepared breakfast for his motherless children, they often ate other meals with the hired men in the cook shack near the bunkhouse. Having meals prepared in their kitchen by their aunt was a real novelty and a treat. Neither Artemus nor Jim was surprised that Caroline Richmond was adept in the kitchen. Although she had servants in her suburban Washington home now, in her young married days she had run her own household.

Artemus had told Mrs. Richmond about a fried chicken recipe he had acquired in his travels, and at her request, spent some time in the kitchen helping her to prepare the dish. As they talked, she told him that although it appeared Dan was doing a fine job raising his children, she was certain a new mother would be helpful, if not downright necessary.

"Children need a feminine influence," she said gravely. "I can see Annie in particular would benefit. She has positively thrived with my presence here. I can also see how unhappy she'll be when we return home."

Artie nodded, understanding. Annie was a bright child and also displayed some headstrong attitudes that a mother's influence might moderate. "Do you know if Daniel has any interest in remarrying?"

Caroline sighed. "The colonel and I discussed it. We both agree that he's not going to move past Mary Beth's death until it is solved, one way or another."

He knew what she meant. As long as Dan Richmond believed Greave was responsible, and going unpunished… "Any particular local woman?"

"Estelle McCray," Caroline responded promptly. "I know she cares for him. She's been a friend of the family for several years, ever since she retired from the stage and moved here."

"Do you happen to know why she left the theater?"

"Not exactly. I know her aunt told me Estelle was not an actress of the magnitude of Lily Fortune, but always busy. Estelle is a lovely woman. Very bright. And both Annie and Nathan are very fond of her."

Now Artie smiled as he carefully used a spatula to turn the sizzling chicken in the pan. "Sounds to me like you are thinking of playing matchmaker."

"I might. But we are only going to be here another three weeks. I'm not sure if there's time! I suppose we may have to leave it up to fate."

"How is the reunion going? I mean, I can see the ease between the colonel and his brother…"

Caroline nodded. "It is now. There was a bit of tension to begin with. With such an age difference… but the children helped. Annie and Nathan were so delighted to meet their cousins, and I'm happy to say my three greeted them warmly. In some sense the age difference assisted in that case. Bradley, Marian, and Elizabeth somehow felt they should be looking after the younger pair!"

"It must have been very difficult for Nathan and Annie to lose their mother as they did… so young."

"Oh yes. I spoke to both Madora and Estelle about it. Of course they helped as much as they could, especially Estelle. And as I said, Estelle would do more if she could."

W*W*W*W*W

Upon returning to Lost Hills, the agents went directly to the sheriff's office, which was across the street from Ma's Café. Sheriff Walter Bird greeted them guardedly, plainly aware of their identity and suspicious of their business in his town. He was a lanky man with a long, sad-appearing face and a drooping mustache that seemed to enhance that melancholy.

"Sheriff," Artie said after the introductions were completed, "we were wondering what you could tell us about the disappearance of the entertainer Leona from the Dixie Bell."

His eyes opened wide in obvious surprise. "Leona? Well… I don't know much about it. She just went off, I guess. Those types of women do that. Looking for greener pastures, I reckon. Or maybe she had a problem with some fellow here."

Jim leaned forward in his chair. "That's what we would like to know. Have you heard about anyone she might have had a problem with?"

Bird flushed. He knew he had walked right into it. But he shook his head. "No. No one. I don't keep up much with that saloon stuff as long as they don't cause any trouble. How come you're so interested in a saloon singer?"

Artemus repeated the fiction they had offered to Greave. "It's not our usual type of inquiry," he smiled. "But what can we do? The order came from higher up." He shrugged.

"Yeah. I see what you mean."

"Sheriff," Jim spoke seriously, "we were told that she was friends with Mr. Farnley Greave, and we went out to talk to him. He was helpful but could not provide us any specific information. However, when we were at his ranch, we could not help but notice the men apparently working there. They looked to be more than cowhands."

Bird looked down at his hands resting on his desktop. "Well, they don't cause any problems. Reckon he's entitled to hire whoever he wants."

"True," Artie nodded. "But being as it's our business, we also noticed a few familiar faces, though we couldn't necessarily put names to them. You wouldn't happen to…"

The sheriff's head shot up. "They don't cause no trouble here!"

"I'm sure they don't," Jim murmured then in a normal tone asked, "What do you know about the death of Mary Beth Richmond?"

Now Bird's complexion lost color. "Nothin'. I mean—she was thrown from her horse. That's all I know. Sad thing, leaving those motherless kids. How come you're asking about that? Happened two years ago!"

"Just curious, seeing as we met her widower and family. According to Mr. Richmond, she was an excellent rider, and was on a horse she was very familiar with."

"Well… these things happen. Maybe a rattlesnake spooked the horse. I don't know. Sure looked like an accident to me!" Now his tone became sharper, his expression defensive.

"As my partner says," Artie spoke quietly, "we are just curious. One woman dies in an accident, another disappears."

"Well, things happen!" Bird said again. Abruptly he got to his feet. "I got things to do."

The agents bade him a polite farewell and went to the hotel. Estelle was in the lobby again and she greeted them with a warm smile. "I want to express my gratitude to both of you again," she said, "for the help you offered my aunt in New Orleans. She has not always had an easy time of it, due partially to her… gift. I'm sure you're aware of it."

Artie had to chuckle. "Most assuredly. She got me into trouble because of it."

Estelle shook her head. "She has told me about that. At the time, of course, her only thought was protecting the doctor, whom she adored and at one time thought the feeling was reciprocated. She was not immediately aware of his obsession with destroying his former colleagues. His attempt to marry that young girl was a painful betrayal. By the way, we have not mentioned Aunt Phalah's abilities in this area. I'm sure you understand."

"We do," Jim confirmed. "And we will certainly not do anything to cause Phalah any problems. Is there some further trouble?"

Estelle was frowning deeply, and she sighed. "It's only that… well, sometimes I forget, or do not entirely comprehend, just what Aunt Phalah is capable of. A few weeks ago she told me to expect guests who were going to change our lives. That was after Colonel Richmond and his family arrived. Although she has not mentioned it further, I'm certain she meant the two of you. I'm not sure she was aware of just who the guests would be, only that… someone… would be coming."

"I don't know how we could specifically change _your_ lives," Artie smiled. "Unless the rent we pay helps!"

She laughed now. "Well, it does, of course. Our expenses aren't great, but neither is our income. We manage. And we both like this area… except for Farnley Greave, of course. I was living here before he arrived, and I know how things have changed."

Jim had been listening thoughtfully. "Miss McCray, has your aunt indicated that she's… aware… of any other future events?"

"No, not really, though I sometimes think something is troubling her. I think… I think that she might believe that if she ignores it, it will go away, not happen. She once let slip that something could happen to little Annie. When I pressed her on it, she shrugged it off, said it was only a dream, and didn't mention it again."

"Persons like Phalah have recently been termed psychics," Artie stated. "We all know many so-called fortune tellers are fakes. But I know personally that Phalah has some genuine abilities, though until now I was unaware it might pertain to foretelling the future."

"It's something she has learned to not speak about, to hide. At least not until she moved to New Orleans and set up a little shop to offer phrenology, which as you no doubt know, is more accepted."

"Yes," Artie mused, "it's been rather an accepted 'science' for a good number of years now. But my experience with Phalah indicates she does more than just read the bumps on one's head!"

Phalah entered through the front door just then, the basket she was carrying indicating she had been shopping at the mercantile down the street. She greeted the men with a smile then hurried through the door adjacent to the lobby desk. Estelle looked after her a long moment, then turned to the men.

"She seemed a bit out of sorts this morning. Much more quiet than usual."

"Perhaps we'll have a chance to talk to her later," Artie said. "And I would like to discuss your experiences in the theater, if you would be so inclined."

Estelle smiled. "I would love to Mr. Gordon. Do you know I met Lily Fortune? I was briefly in a play in which she appeared. It was when she was first starting out. I knew she had great potential. She's wonderful."

"I agree," Artie grinned. "I look forward to our conversation. Jim, shall we go get that beer we discussed earlier?"

"What's on your mind?" Artie asked when they were ensconced at a corner table in the Dixie Bell, cold beers before them.

"Hmm?" Jim had been staring absently toward a picture of Robert E. Lee, prominent on the wall behind the bar.

"Come on, you have been unusually quiet, especially after you asked Estelle about Phalah's possible other abilities."

Jim scowled at him. "Artie, I am not normally a magpie."

"No, but not usually a clam either. What are you thinking about? Remembering what I told you about how Phalah appeared to sense other aspects of my personality when I visited her in New Orleans in the guise of the bookkeeper?"

"Some," Jim admitted.

"It was a trifle unnerving," Artie admitted, remembering. "I offered her my hand in a polite greeting, and she grabbed it, touched it with both her hands… it seemed to be affecting her somehow. Then she mentioned how she sensed reckless courage, something that a man like Beldon Scoville, Jr. might not necessarily possess."

Jim took a swallow of his beer. "Then she recognized you by touch at Articulus's home."

"That was a bad situation. I didn't know what to do when I saw her coming down the stairs. Her presence was completely unexpected. But I could see that the disguise as the blustery engineer prevented her from knowing me immediately. Foolishly, I offered my hand. I saw a… a surprised expression on her face and I wondered. I tried to bluff my way through, but when she touched my head… it was all over. I was always positive she was reading more than just the bumps on my head!"

"It's not so farfetched that she might be able to… predict the future."

"You're thinking about little Annie. Jim, it might mean anything. Come on! You're one of the most hidebound skeptics I know! Why is this troubling you?"

Jim could only sigh. "That I don't know, Artie. I do know that over the course of our careers we've encountered some mighty strange things. Colonel Vautrain… Manzeppi… your dream about the Day house, and what happened there afterwards…"

"That's far from predicting the future with any accuracy. I remember an old man at home in Michigan who would say things… foretell events. But he was always very vague. He could not pinpoint exactly what was going to happen. He was often right, but in a roundabout way. He told my mother that she was going to come into money… and she inherited twenty dollars from a distant cousin! As you might imagine, she and my father were anticipating a great deal more than that!" _This is more than a little strange. Usually it would be the other way around, with Jim trying to talk me out of some nonsensical idea!_

"There's Bellingham," Jim said, experiencing a mild sense of relief. He did not want to continue this conversation. The saloon owner had come in through a door behind the bar. Again his attire was dapper, this time a gray suit, with the ruby stickpin in his tie.

"Gentlemen!" he greeted warmly. "Good to see you. I thought you might be out chasing dastardly Rebs!"

Artie laughed. "Haven't run into any for a while. Sit down, Mr. Bellingham. We were hoping for an opportunity to talk to you."

Romney Bellingham knew most of the men from the Greave ranch by sight, a few of their names, and even fewer that he knew both names for. He called the dour bartender over, introduced him as Harker, and the same questions were posed. Harker knew a little more, primarily first names. He was able to say he overheard three of the Greave men once talking about the money they were going to receive once Greave controlled all the property in the area.

"Well," Artie sighed as both the owner and barkeeper went off to attend to other duties, "I don't think we are much further along."

Jim looked down at the notes he had taken on a piece of paper Bellingham had provided. "A few of the names are familiar. How many men named Stuffy do we know?"

"Suffield Colgan," Artie nodded. "Nice fellow. Damn good sharpshooter. I don't think I saw him at Greave's this morning."

"No, me either. But I wasn't staring. Didn't think it would be polite." Jim shoved the paper across the table. "Here you are."

"What?"

"Artie, you are far more adept with the department codes than I am. We can't simply send straightforward telegrams to Washington."

With a sigh, Artie picked up the sheet of paper, folded it, and placed it into an inside pocket. "What next?"

"I have no idea. We need to search Greave's house for the journals. If we break in too soon and don't find them…"

"He'll move them, even destroy them." Artie immediately shook his head. "No, he wouldn't destroy them. They are part of him, his life. But he'd certainly hide them more securely. And we would not have any access on the pretext of asking about Leona."

"I don't know, Artie. The colonel may be asking too much of us. It's not like Greave has a little office in town that's going to be deserted in the middle of the night."

"There's got to be a way, Jim. We just have to find the opportunity and jump on it."

"Seems to me we need to force Greave to do something. Something that will give us a reason to enter his house and search it."

"Well, when you come up with that idea, let me know. Pretty obviously he's holding back as long as the colonel is in the area, and probably even more so with us here!"

"Yeah. Just too darn bad…"

"What?" Artie lowered the glass of beer he was about to polish off.

"I just keep thinking how successful you usually are in disguise."

"Well, thank you for the compliment, James. However, I'm not sure at all that would be a good idea at this point."

"I know. He might be on the alert for such a ploy now that he is aware we're here. Artie, suppose we left…"

Artemus shook his head firmly. "I doubt he'd buy it. No, we need to come up with something else, James. Maybe some further conversation with Dan Richmond will help. He knows Greave better than we do."

W*W*W*W*W

Prophet of evil! never hadst thou yet  
A cheerful word for me. To mark the signs  
Of coming mischief is thy great delight,  
Good dost thou ne'er foretell nor bring to pass.

—_The Iliad_ (bk. I, l. 138) [Bryant's translation], Homer ("Smyrns of Chios"; (fl. 750 BC or earlier), Greek poet

In Artie's room, Jim wrote out the messages to send while Artemus encoded them. If they could discover that any of Greave's men had warrants out on them, they might be able to shake things up a bit. The telegraph messages were worded in code to sound as though they were sending innocuous greetings to or asking about the well being of friends and relatives. In the midst of the chore, Jim dug into the pocket of the jacket he had hung on the back of his chair, only to find he did not have the smokes he thought he did. None were in his room and Artie had to admit he was out as well.

So Jim shrugged on his jacket and descended downstairs where he walked to the mercantile and replenished their supplies. Upon reentering the Traveler's Rest he found Phalah busily dusting some shelves where several pieces of bric-a-brac were displayed. He did not miss the expression of panic on her face as she glanced around to see him then headed for the door near the desk.

"Phalah!"

She halted, her shoulders stiffening as she turned. Her face was expressionless. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. West?"

Jim smiled as he approached her, wondering at her tenseness and trying to put her at ease. "I just wanted to talk to you a moment."

"Yes?" She remained frozen.

"Your niece mentioned you had a… a premonition about Daniel Richmond's daughter."

Now Phalah spun, putting her back to him, but she did not walk away. "It was nothing."

"Phalah, please," he said gently. "I don't know if I exactly believe in these things, but I do know you felt some… sensations… in New Orleans when you met Artemus, both in his pose as the bookkeeper and later the engineer…"

"It was his head. The bumps." Phalah remained facing away.

"Maybe partially. But Artemus says you appeared to… to _feel_ something the moment you touched his hand when you met him in New Orleans and also at Articulus's home. I noticed that you also reacted when he touched your hand yesterday. What is it? What did you feel… or see?"

A long moment transpired, until she finally turned around. Tears were welling in her dark eyes. "I saw him in his grave."

An icy chill washed over Jim, and he swallowed hard before speaking quietly. "What do you mean?"

Phalah shook her head miserably. "I saw him… in utter darkness… a final place. That's about all I can say."

"It… could mean something else… couldn't it?"

Her eyes lowered and her voice was almost inaudible. "It could… but…"

"But? Phalah this is important!"

Now she looked up. "I had this… this vision once before… when Estelle's father died."

Jim was about to press her further, but heard the door open behind him. He spoke softly before turning. "Don't tell anyone else about this, especially not Mr. Gordon."

The man who was entering was a shadowy silhouette against the sunlit windows of the front wall. Jim saw a somewhat stocky man in range clothes who paused and stared at him before coming forward. Then Jim gasped aloud, extending his hand.

"Jeremy! What the devil are you doing here?"

Jeremy Pike grinned, gripping the hand warmly. "I could ask you the same thing." His clothes were dusty and well worn; he needed a shave, and obviously a bath. "Is Artemus with you?"

"Upstairs. But…"

"I was just passing through and when I saw the hotel, decided to stay over a night for a bath and a bed! Say, Lost Hills. Is this where the colonel is visiting?"

"He is." Jim glanced at Phalah who was watching with interest. "Phalah, this is Jeremy Pike, a colleague. Jer, Miss Phalah McCray, an old friend."

If Pike remembered hearing the account of their adventures involving the woman, he gave no sign, extending his hand. Jim watched with interest as Phalah accepted the hand, but saw no change in her expression. "Would you like a room, sir?"

"I would," Jeremy began, before Jim put a hand on his arm. "What is it?"

"Something just occurred to me. Phalah, please do not mention Mr. Pike's arrival to anyone else, not even your niece. Please?"

She nodded. "Of course, Mr. West."

"What's going on, Jim?"

"Let's go upstairs and talk to Artie."

Artemus was just as astonished as Jim had been to see their fellow agent, and Jim saw by the quick glance Artie threw his way that his partner had a similar idea as he had. Sitting down, they told Pike what was going on in this area, why Richmond had asked them to come and what they had learned.

"I remember Farnley Greave," Pike said when the name came up. "I was in Washington that autumn after being wounded in a skirmish in Virginia a month or so after Gettysburg. A lot of people were angry and frustrated, knowing he was guilty not only of the fraud but of murder and intimidation. However, no one could come up with proof. I had a friend on the District police force who was particularly angry about it." Jeremy shook his head, sadness in his eyes. "Chances are very good that Greave had a hand in Tom Pate's death. He was found shot in an alley not too long after he confronted Greave. That was shortly after the case was dropped."

"He's a vicious man, that's apparent," Artie said softly.

Jeremy chewed his lip a moment. "I am pretty sure I know what you want me to do. Infiltrate. Right?"

"That's it, Jer," Jim replied. "I'm sure the colonel will authorize it."

Pike frowned. "Why aren't you doing it, Artemus?"

"Because not only does Greave 'know' me now, but he is undoubtedly aware that I used a couple of disguises on O'Reilly and Durain."

"That makes sense. Next question is, what kind of disguise? Who should I be?"

"Ah, there's the rub," Artie sighed. "Greave has a passel of gun toting men. You'd have to be someone pretty special to be hired."

Jeremy grinned. "Well, I do know how to use a gun, but I'll be the first to admit my prowess is not up to either of you. What do we know about his past?"

"Actually not much," Jim admitted. "The colonel may know more. I suggest we wait until after dark and take a ride out there."

Pike glanced down at himself. "Is it all right if I get a bath and change clothes?"

Artie grinned. "I think that's an excellent idea, especially because Mrs. Richmond and three young ladies are at the Rolling R!"

W*W*W*W*W

James Richmond was delighted to see another of his agents walk through the door. He had experienced a smattering of trepidation upon hearing the approach of horses so late in the evening. Both he and his brother had picked up weapons, just in case, warning Bradley, who was the only one still up with them, to remain back from the windows. Thus, a sense of relief accompanied the pleasure he experienced.

Jim quickly explained the reason for their visit. Richmond immediately gave his approval, saying he would clear up any problems caused by Pike not reporting to his next assignment when he was back in Washington. "But do you have any ideas of what character he will become?" he asked as they settled in with the whiskey Daniel poured. Even Bradley was allowed a small amount, which he accepted with an attempt of sober sophistication while his eyes widened as his father handed him the glass.

"That's one reason we're here, sir," Artie responded, his gaze shifting to the younger brother. "We were hoping Mr. Richmond might have some ideas."

Daniel Richmond frowned. "Ideas?"

Jeremy spoke up. "What kind of person might appeal to Greave? A politician, poet, traveling salesman? Someone he would be delighted to meet, who he might even invite to stay over."

"Ah. I see." Dan displayed a rueful, somewhat bitter smile. "It would help if you could disguise yourself as a beautiful young woman!"

They all chuckled about this. Then Jim asked, "To your knowledge, has he any hobbies? We've seen his home and are aware of the very fine furnishings. Does he collect wines, or buy blooded horses…"

"Artwork," Bradley put in, drawing the gazes of the four older men. He flushed slightly, putting the drink that he had barely tasted aside on the table next to his chair. "I was in the stagecoach company's office inquiring about schedules for father, when Greave and another man came in. Someone from his ranch, I think. Anyway, they pretty much shouldered me aside so that Greave could ask about a shipment he was expecting. He said it was an expensive oil painting and he was concerned for its safety."

"I didn't see any Rembrandts or Rubens on his walls," Artie mused, "but he did have some rather fine appearing oils. Several landscapes, such as a Paris street scene, and one of boats on the Thames."

"Jerry knows art," Jim put in, gazing at his fellow agent.

Jeremy nodded somewhat self-consciously. "I do tend to haunt museums wherever I go. The question might be how well known Greave is as a buyer."

"I wonder if that shipment has arrived," Jim frowned. "If we could find out where it came from…"

Daniel spoke up. "Frank Day at the stage office is one fellow who's not under Greave's thumb."

"I should say," Bradley agreed. "He didn't appear bothered by Greave's badgering. Just said he'd notify Greave when the package arrived."

"That's where we need to start," Artie said. "First thing tomorrow morning, Jim or I will call on Mr. Day and ask his cooperation. If we're lucky, the shipment will be from some reputable agency that would be a perfect cover for Jerry's impersonation as a representative."

W*W*W*W*W

Think not I am what I appear.

—_The Bride of Abydos, Canto the First, _Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824**)**, English poet

Late the following afternoon, an unlikely rider appeared at the Greave ranch. Mr. Jasper Thornborough rode a horse laden down by several pieces of luggage tied to the saddle in awkward positions, and he himself was extremely ill at ease in the saddle. He dismounted with stiff movements and grunts of pain when Farnley Greave emerged onto the porch, quickly clutching his derby hat to his chest as he introduced himself in a lisping voice, peering through dust-coated spectacles. His tweed trousers were in dire need of a cleaning and pressing, and the matching jacket was not in much better condition, nor was his once white shirt.

"Mr. Greave, I am _tho_ glad I've found you!" he gushed, reaching out to grasp and take the impeccably clad man's hand. "When Barrett and Darr wired me the inthtructionth to call on you, I wath unthure if I could even find you! But I'm here, aren't I!"

"Barrett and Darr?" Greave stared, uncomprehending. "Is there a problem with my last purchase?" _If they've messed up my purchase of that landscape…_

"Oh, no, no, thir. No, thiree! You are one of our betht cuthtomerth and I'm here to expreth Barrett and Darr'th apprethiation! I hope you'll allow me to do that." Thornborogh continued to grasp Greave's hand, pumping enthusiastically.

Bemused, Greave nodded. "Perhaps you'd better come inside." He waved away the several men who had appeared when a stranger approached, as instructed. _Good to know Barrett and Darr have the sense to recognize me as one of their best customers, if not the best!_

W*W*W*W*W

Jim and Artemus mounted the horses they had left at the base of the hill, satisfied that their colleague had at least initially convinced Farnley Greave. They had hidden behind some brush at the top of a rise that offered a pretty good view—with spyglass—of the front of the Greave home to watch Pike's encounter. Jeremy had arrived at the ranch very late in the afternoon in the hopes that Greave would be so persuaded—and so flattered—that he would invite the art agency's representative to remain the night; even if the said representative was highly annoying. The decision had been that if "Jasper" was irksome, he would be less suspected as an infiltrator.

"Jerry can lay on the charm even while being a pain in the neck," Jim had grinned as they discussed the venture at the Rolling R this morning. Pike had not returned to town last night; he had remained at the ranch, having brought his gear with him.

Pike happened to have the old tweed suit from a previous assignment in his saddle pack, along with the glasses. He did not bother with facial adornment, simply slicked his hair down, after a part in the middle. Daniel had provided the derby. A relative of his late wife's had left it behind after a visit. Dan also had a horse that they felt would be more suitable for "Jasper Thornborough" than the fine sorrel Jeremy normally rode.

Annie had watched the transformation with utter fascination. She had been delighted to know that another agent with talents similar to Mr. Gordon's had arrived, although disappointed that Mr. Pike did not have stage experience. All of the younger Richmonds had been sworn to secrecy regarding Mr. Pike's presence. All solemnly agreed. Even Annie and Nathan knew the importance of this venture, even if they did not entirely comprehend everything that was going to be done.

"Now we see what happens," Artie commented as they returned to town.

"Plus hope we get something back on those names we sent to Washington. If we can arrest a few of Greave's boys, it might annoy him into doing something drastic."

"Like shooting us," Artie cracked sardonically.

Jim did not comment, remembering Phalah's words. He wanted to talk to the woman further, but needed to do it in private, which seemed as though it was going to be difficult to accomplish, especially since she was obviously going to try to avoid him. She had done that this morning when the two men came downstairs, heading to Ma's for breakfast. Phalah had been at the desk. She nodded briskly toward them then quickly retreated through the door behind the desk that led to the quarters she shared with her niece.

Artie noticed it too, but when he mentioned it, Jim just shrugged it off. He was unsure what his partner's reaction would be to Phalah's vision. He was still uncertain about his own reaction. He had been initially shaken; however, as he had time to consider, he had started to think more rationally. While he did not believe Phalah was deliberately trying to mislead him, she may well have allowed her imagination to run away with itself. After all, in the line of work he and Artemus were in, the prospect of a grave was always imminent.

He tried to tell himself again and again that people who claimed to be clairvoyant usually were not. Sometimes such people might even fool themselves, accepting coincidences as proof, and at times rearranging facts to suit their "predictions." _Yet I encountered Colonel Noel Bartlett Vautrain, and I experienced the power of his mind. At least I think I did!_

He and his partner had discussed Vautrain's "trick" at length, and had never been able to come up with a logical explanation. Artemus's memories of his turn as Jack Maitland were vague at best. He knew he had been shot—and killed—but the circumstances were murky in his mind. He especially did not remember that he had been bound and determined to fight a duel with James West, and kill him.

Jim recalled it clearly, however, and it troubled him a great deal. Had Vautrain actually sent him to another time and place? Was that truly Artemus he had encountered, or some ancestor? Artie had certainly been with him on the stairs when he roused; a completely uninjured Artemus, still clad in the evening clothes he had worn days before at the theater. They both had accompanied Vautrain back in time to the time of the battle of Vicksburg…

Had it truly happened? Or had Vautrain somehow hypnotized both of them? Jim wanted desperately to accept that explanation, but obstructions kept popping up. How could Vautrain have hypnotized either one of them in the theater? Did he hypnotize the entire audience, as well as the stage manager and crew? The burning house had been real, as had been Amanda Vautrain, as well as the fact that they were in Vicksburg when they awakened after the explosion inside the house.

So was it possible that Phalah was able to read the future? If so, what was she actually seeing in regard to Artie's fate? _I have to talk to her further—in private. That might be hard to arrange…_

"What's on your mind?"

Jim looked up from the plate full of steaming hotcakes and realized he had been staring at it for several minutes, his thoughts wandering. Now he smiled slightly and shook his head as he picked up his knife to begin slathering butter on the cakes. "Just wondering how this is all going to play out, I guess."

"Yeah, that is a quandary, for sure. Right now much depends on Jeremy's success. If he's able to find the journals, that's that. If not…"

Pike was going to try to search Greave's house last night, if everything worked out favorably. Because he did not appear at the hotel last evening, they could only assume, and hope, that "Jasper Thornborough" had been invited to stay at the ranch for at least the night. Pike's ploy was that he was going to tell Greave about newly available art that was to be offered by his firm. His story was that his case containing photographs and sketches of the upcoming exhibit had been lost overboard during a river crossing mishap. But Jeremy was knowledgeable enough about art to be able to describe items in detail, as well as to be able to not go too far. He would not offer oils that were currently on display in world famous museums. Barrett and Darr handled private holdings, often estates.

Artemus dealt with his own excellent omelet and did not comment further on his partner's behavior. Jim had been more quiet than usual since before they left for the Rolling R after Pike's arrival. Something was on his mind; that was certain. Even Colonel Richmond had noticed it, asking Gordon about it during a private moment. Artie knew his partner well enough to know that Jim would either work whatever was troubling him out himself, or eventually talk about it. Asking him did little good, as he just found out. _Jim's not worrying about Jeremy's success. He has as much confidence in Pike as I have. It's something else!_

As she had a couple of times when they took meals here, Madora emerged with a cup of coffee to join them. All the customers present had been served, and her father would take care of any requests for coffee or other matters, until new patrons entered.

"Mr. West, Mr. Gordon. How are you this morning?"

"Just fine after consuming this superb omelet," Artie grinned. "I don't think I've consumed better anywhere!"

She smiled. "Thank you. My mother was an excellent cook and she taught me well. Is there anything new?"

"Nothing, I'm afraid," Jim replied. He liked this young woman. She flirted a bit with him, but she was also forthright, saying what she had on her mind. He almost wished they could tell her about Jeremy Pike. She deserved to know they were working to rid the area of Farnley Greave, and that she would be free of his unwanted attention.

"Curly Lonergan was in town yesterday, did you know?" When both agents shook their heads, Ma went on. "It was, I believe, while you two were away from town. But I'm pretty sure he was looking for you. He came in here twice."

"Well, maybe I'll get lucky and he'll come back today," Jim said laconically. He had had a notion he was not finished with the surly gun hand.

"At least Greave hasn't been around," she sighed. "I get tired of hiding in the kitchen to avoid him when he shows up."

"What does he do?" Artie asked. "I mean, I assume he attempts to 'court' you. Is he aggressive?"

"Oh, no. Very smooth and also very persistent. He does not appear to comprehend the meaning of 'no.' One time he brought me some flowers from his ranch. They were lovely and I accepted them, mostly because some other customers were here and I didn't want to start a ruckus. But I threw them in the trash out back!"

Jim chuckled. "Did he know?"

"I'm not sure. He came back two days later, but didn't mention not seeing them here in the restaurant. For all he knew, however. I'd taken them upstairs to our quarters. I do not like that man. I get the sense that he's… I'm not sure of the word I want. Dangerous?"

Artie nodded soberly now. "He may well be. I would continue to avoid him if I were you, but try not to upset him."

She looked at each in turn for a long moment. "Are you—I mean, I know what he's been doing here in this area isn't necessarily business for the federal government. But you came here because Colonel Richmond is here, and he's the head of the Secret Service. Is there something…?"

"Nothing we can talk about right now," Jim smiled.

She might have said, or asked, more, but several customers entered, requiring her to retreat to the kitchen again. Artie saw how Jim's eyes followed her until she disappeared through the door. "Nice woman," he commented.

"Very," Jim replied, attacking his food again. "Do you suppose Greave sent Curly or was he acting on his own?"

"Good question. Either could be the answer. I don't doubt Curly would like some payback for being shown up the other day. Greave appeared to accept our story about looking for Leona, but he also has to be aware of our involvement in shutting down O'Reilly and Durain. I doubt his feelings toward us are very warm. Chances are he was looking forward to a high—and lucrative—position in the new government."

"We do seem to mess up some people's grand ambitions in those areas, don't we?"

"Yes, that's true. And for some reason, they get very angry with us!" Artie assumed an expression of mock confusion.

Leaving the restaurant, they walked down to the telegraph office, where they found they had two replies waiting. They did not open the envelopes until they reached Jim's room, when each took one. Jim grimaced as he read his.

"Nothing."

"Little better luck here, but I'm not sure if it's enough. Stuffy is wanted for questioning in a bushwhacking in Texas. We could talk to him about it, at least."

"That's definitely his line of work," Jim nodded. "And it might give us a chance to see how Jeremy is doing."

The trip to the Greave ranch proved only half successful. They did see Pike and determine he was safe, although he was unable to give them any type of signal to indicate his progress, or lack thereof. From the moment the two agents came into view, a number of men emerged from the surrounding buildings, as they had on their first visit. Greave emerged onto the porch, followed by "Jasper Thornborough." Pike remained behind Greave, clutching his hands together at this chest, and fidgeting nervously; however, because of the men behind Jim and Artemus, he was in full view so he could not even nod.

Greave claimed he had no knowledge of anyone named Suffield Colgan, nor even "Stuffy." Jim mildly pointed out that they had thought they saw Colgan at this ranch previously, but Greave continued to deny it. He even called out to the nearby men, and they blandly agreed with him. Artie then asked if Greave had thought of anything further that might be useful regarding Leona Darwin. Greave shook his head. He could not help them further.

"Stuffy must have noticed our interest last time," Artie commented as they reached the main road.

Jim glanced up at some nearby tree-covered hills. "Could be."

Artemus's gaze followed his partner's, and knew what Jim was thinking. Stuffy Colgan was a bushwhacker. He could be waiting for another crack at the agents. "I don't think he'd strike so close to Greave's place… do you?"

"Maybe not," Jim murmured. He did not need to speak his thoughts, knowing his partner would be just as aware. They would need to remain alert.

They went directly to the Richmond ranch to report to the colonel, who frowned deeply as he listened. "Not much progress there."

"Maybe Pike will have something," Artie offered hopefully.

"Maybe," the colonel muttered. He looked at each of his agents. "And if he doesn't?"

Jim shook his head. "I don't know, Colonel. We would need to break into Greave's house at night and search it—risky business at best, not only because he would presumably be there asleep, but we would also have no idea where to look, or even what we're looking for."

"We could try for a warrant, but that seems like a faint hope," Artie added.

Richmond let out a breath. They were in Daniel's office again, just the three of them. "I really don't want to go back to Washington leaving Greave here alive and active. I'm sure that he'll start harassing the citizens again, and perhaps focus on Dan."

"That's a good possibility," Jim agreed. Greave had to realize that the visits of the agents to his home were at least in part instigated by Dan Richmond's brother, whether he believed the story about the Senator's niece or not. "Unless he does something, however, our hands our tied right now."

"Let's see what Jerry has to say," Artie put in. "If he found the journals…"

They learned just a couple of hours later that that had not happened. West and Gordon remained at the ranch at the instigation of Caroline, who wanted them to stay for lunch, as well as the younger Richmonds who hoped to spend more time with the two men. Because they had nothing on the docket, Jim and Artemus were easy to persuade.

Dan Richmond invited Jim to take a walk with him, saying he wanted to show the agent a stream behind the house where he was considering building a dam. Jim realized that the younger brother simply wanted to talk to him. Artie sensed that as well, and persuaded both Nathan and Bradley to remain behind with him rather than accompanying them.

"Mr. West," Richmond began as soon as they were out of earshot of the house, "first I want to thank you and your partner for coming. As soon as James learned of the problems we were having here, he said he would send for the best help he could. To be honest, I don't think he had connected Greave with that business in Canada at the time he first summoned you."

Jim smiled briefly. "Knowing the colonel, he would have figured out some legal and logical reason for us to be here. I know it's important to him to help you in any way possible."

Dan sighed. "I wish we had not both been so stupid and stubborn. Caroline told me how you helped persuade James to come. I thank you."

"He probably would have come to the decision on his own. I just happen to have experience in that area."

"That's what she said. I don't know how similar our situations are. I know I was in awe of James when I was a small boy. Father sent him off to a military academy and James came home in his uniform… I was too frightened to even approach him. Then over time I somehow got the idea that Father favored James over me. And of course, I resented it. James and I had disagreements which, I'm afraid, were primarily instigated by my attitude. It really wasn't until I lost Mary Beth that it occurred to me that I could remarry, father more children. Although Annie and Nathan would be very special to me, as part of Mary Beth, I don't think I would love them any more than other children."

"Maturity brings different perspectives," Jim agreed as they paused alongside the swiftly flowing stream that was perhaps a hundred yards behind the house. "I was very close to my brother as a boy. Later, however, I thought he betrayed me and did not understand why he did what he did. Eventually circumstances brought us together again, and now he's my brother again." (See _The Night of the Murderers Sons._)

Dan stared down at the sparkling water for a long moment. "If you are unable to put Greave away before you leave…"

"We will," Jim spoke firmly. "We have time yet. Men like Greave make mistakes. They usually think they are incapable of erring, but they do. We just have to catch him at it."

"It could be dangerous to you and Mr. Gordon."

Now Jim smiled. "That's what we get paid for." He looked at the man standing beside him. "Now, what's really on your mind?"

"It's something Estelle told me. Estelle McCray… at the hotel."

Jim spoke more calmly than he felt. "What is it?"

Daniel glanced at him, his expression rueful. "I'm not entirely sure why I feel I could—and should—talk to you about this."

"Is it about her aunt?"

Richmond nodded. "Estelle has been a friend for a long time, since she first arrived in Lost Hills. She and Mary Beth were close, and Estelle was a tremendous help when… I lost Mary Beth. Her aunt seems to be a very nice woman, though I have not had opportunity to talk to her much. Three weeks ago we had a party in town, something that happens every three or four weeks during the summer. Dancing and food at the town hall. Anyway, I took James and Caroline and the children, as an opportunity to meet more of the local people.

"Estelle and I danced, and then we went outside for a little fresh air. I could see something was troubling her, and I asked. At first she wasn't going to tell me, but I think she really needed to tell someone."

"What was it?" _Not that I don't already know!_

"She told me that her aunt had had a dream about Annie, and in it, Annie was in great danger."

"What kind of danger?"

Daniel shook his head. "I don't know. Estelle didn't seem to know either, and I'm not sure her aunt did. I mean I know it's just a dream but… Estelle seemed to be greatly disturbed by it. She then apologized for telling me, told me not to worry about it. It's been in the back of my mind, nonetheless."

"Of course it is. But I wouldn't worry too much, Mr. Richmond. As you say, it was just a dream."Jim hoped he sounded convincing. _I have to convince myself, and I hate that. Fortune telling and predicting the future, by whatever method, are not something that I usually worry about. I need to talk to Phalah, and perhaps Estelle. _"I take it you haven't told the colonel about this."

"No. I'm sure James would offer me reassurance, but he'd also think I'm crazy for even worrying about it." Daniel's smile was wan.

"Yeah." _Why DID you decide to tell ME about it?_ Jim wanted to ask that question but did not. "I suggest you keep it between us for now. Don't even tell my partner."

Richmond nodded. "Thanks for listening to me. I'm sure it's nothing." His voice and face revealed he was anything but convinced. He started to turn back toward the house, but paused. "Did you hear about the dance tomorrow night?"

"I think I noticed a poster in town."

"James and Caroline and the youngsters enjoyed the one we attended that I mentioned, and we plan to go to this one. You and Mr. Gordon should come by. Madora Price usually attends."

Jim grinned. Artie must have been talking! "Then it sounds like a good way to get our minds off troubles!"

W*W*W*W*W

As they hoped would occur, Jeremy Pike showed up at the Rolling R late that afternoon. His news was not particularly good. In the room used by Colonel and Mrs. Richmond, Jeremy changed his clothes to his regular attire and told the colonel and two agents what happened.

"Greave appeared to accept Jasper for what he claimed to be. He was quite interested in a particular lot of oils I assured him were about to be up for bid within six months, from the estate of a man in Connecticut—which I happen to know are indeed going to be on the market before long. In any case, we talked a great deal about art, and he was quite accommodating in inviting me to stay the night. Later, I was able to get into the room Jim mentioned without incident. However, I found absolutely nothing. Not even a safe where the journals could be hidden. But I think I know where they might be… in his bedroom."

"Oh great," Artie groaned.

"Yeah. Last night, as I was preparing for bed, I decided to play a hunch. I thought of a reason to go to Greave's room, knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for an invitation. Greave was seated at a small desk, and he was a tad annoyed at my interruption. Nonetheless, he seemed to accept my excuse about needing to have a glass of water at my bedside during the night, and told me where to find tumblers in the kitchen. That was going to be my excuse if I was caught downstairs later, that I needed to refill the glass. In any case, although I could not see clearly, Greave appeared to be writing in an open ledger—or journal—at that desk. I also noticed that a metal cabinet was nearby, with a key dangling from the lock of a partially opened drawer."

"I have a feeling you may be right," Jim sighed. "Not much chance of getting in there at night with him sleeping there."

"Unless we employed a little anesthetic," Artie offered.

Richmond looked at each of his three agents. "Gentlemen, you are not only talking about breaking and entering, but perhaps forgetting the thirty or so guns residing at that ranch!" He prevented himself from smiling. _They won't let either charge deter them, I know!_

"True enough," Jim replied with a straight face. "Another possibility is something that would draw Greave out of the house, and occupy the attention of all those men carrying guns."

"Like a fire?" Pike inquired.

"Like a fire," Jim nodded. "Jer, Artie and I got a cursory look at the layout of the buildings there. I hope you know a bit more."

"I suspect I do. I'll draw a map."

"Next question is when," Artie said.

"Sooner the better," Richmond muttered.

"I agree," Jim replied. "Tonight?"

"Let's see what we can put together," Jeremy offered. "Tonight might be a bit soon."

"I agree," Artemus nodded. "However, the dance is tomorrow night, and we're expected to be there." He looked at the colonel. "Do you know if Greave attends these affairs?"

"He was not at the one we went to a few weeks ago, but Daniel mentioned that he sometimes appears."

"That would help," Jim mused. "However, we would have to act at the spur of the moment. Not to mention we might be noticed if we left the party early."

"Another factor to consider is whether Greave fully accepted Jasper. He might be on the alert, for a couple of days at least." Artie pondered a moment. "How about Saturday then? Could be that at least some of Greave's guns will be in town that day. If we start a fire as a distraction, more of whoever is on hand will be called to fight it."

Jim nodded. "Cutting down the odds isn't a bad idea."

W*W*W*W*W

Jeremy Pike remained at the Rolling R, rather than return to the hotel with Jim and Artemus. They did not want Greave to see him and perhaps recognize him as Jasper Thornborough. Pike didn't mind. He enjoyed being with the Richmond youngsters and getting to know the colonel's brother.

Another telegram was waiting for the agents in town, this one informing them that at least two of the names could match a pair of bank robbers wanted in the Dakota Territory. More information was needed to confirm the identity, however. Artemus wrote a cheerful reply to "Aunt Maude" telling her to not worry for the moment. Everything would be taken care of in good order.

They paid another visit to Sheriff Bird, but found him no more useful than previously. Even suggesting that Farnley Greave could be committing criminal acts caused perspiration to break out on Bird's forehead.

"He's not going to be much help," Artie complained as they walked toward the hotel.

Jim shrugged. "We'll probably manage without him. Certainly can't bring him in on the scheme to break in and steal the journals!"

Artie chuckled. "He'd probably faint." He glanced up toward the sun, lowering in the western horizon. "How about a beer before getting back to work?"

"I'm sold."

Jim cut off the sidewalk and Artie joined him as they strode across the street to the Dixie Bell. He wished he could come up with a logical excuse to return to the hotel alone and look for an opportunity to talk to Phalah. However, Jim knew that his partner's immediate response would be "I'll come with you," and no reason would exist for him not to.

He also wished he could stop thinking about Phalah's visions. _It makes no sense. Despite everything we've experienced, I have no reason to believe her. _He could understand Dan Richmond's concerns, a father for his daughter. Even if Daniel did not entirely believe in Phalah's supposed powers, it would be a nagging worry. _Maybe that's the problem with me. Even I don't believe in psychic phenomena, Artie is my friend, closer to me than my own blood kin. All I have to do is talk myself out of worrying—and that's not easy to do!_

Romney Bellingham came to their table shortly after they seated themselves with the ice-cold beers. "Gentlemen. Haven't seen much of you lately."

"Guess we've been busy," Artie smiled. "That's the only thing that could keep us away from these excellent lagers."

Bellingham beamed. "Only the best." He leaned forward. "Did you talk to Greave about Leona?"

"We did," Jim replied, "and got nowhere—as expected."

The saloon man's countenance darkened. "I know he had something to do with her disappearance. She left too many of her belongings behind."

"You didn't mention that before," Artie said.

"Didn't I? Guess I forgot. Yeah. When she first arrived here, she had a small suitcase, but over time—and she was here nearly a year—she of course acquired more clothes and other possessions. After she didn't show up for work, I made the sheriff go with me to the little cabin where she was living to look around. That small satchel was gone, but her wardrobe was filled with clothes. I couldn't say exactly what she took, but not much. Bird said it was because she wanted to travel light. But it makes no sense. In the first place, she had no reason to leave like that."

"Greave suggested you had a hold on her," Jim put in.

Bellingham scowled. "The only hold I had on her was that I liked her, and I paid her well to sing here. We didn't have a contract. A few times we talked about why she didn't go to a larger city. She told me she tried that; didn't like it. She preferred the simpler life."

"And no romantic entanglements?" Artie inquired.

"None that I know of. I got the idea she was hurt bad in the past. I do know she didn't like Greave. A couple of times when he came in while she was singing, she just got up and left as soon as she finished. He didn't like that."

Artie sighed. "Well, unless we find—unfortunately—her body or some further proof, we cannot do much."

Bellingham looked at each of them. "And you are not going to tell me the real reason you are after Greave."

Jim just grinned and picked up his beer to take a long drink.

Their table was in a corner, and Jim was seated with his back to the door. However, Artie faced the entrance. He started to lift his own glass then lowered it, speaking softly. "Jim, Curly Lonergan just came in with two other men. By his expression, he's not here for a relaxing afternoon."

Jim did not react, but Bellingham looked around. "His companions are a couple of hell-raisers, Mr. West."

"So much for _our_ relaxing afternoon," Artie muttered. "They're coming this way."

The trio stopped half a dozen feet away. "Hey, you!" Curly growled. "West!"

Jim picked up his glass, drained it and replaced it on the table casually, before glancing around. "Something I can do for you?"

"Yeah! Stand up and face me like a man!"

"You mean you didn't learn your lesson the other day?" Artie asked.

"He tricked me!" Lonergan snarled. "I wasn't expecting it."

Artie grinned. "And now you are?"

Curly did not like being laughed at. "I'll fix you after I take care of your yellow friend here."

Carefully, with no haste, Jim shoved his chair back, got to his feet and turned. Behind him he heard movement and knew Artie was pulling Bellingham out of the way. "You need three of you?" he asked.

Curly glanced at the two men flanking him. "They're just here to make sure you don't cheat again."

"And I'm here to make sure your friends don't jump the gun," Artie spoke firmly.

Jim did not need to turn around. He knew Artemus had drawn his weapon. The expressions on the faces of the other two men confirmed it. They backed up slightly. Curly looked at them, glared at Artie, then turned his attention to Jim again.

"I don't need them!"

Other patrons in the saloon had become aware of the confrontation and were moving out of the possible line of fire. No one departed, however. Quite a few wanted to see Curly Lonergan taken down a peg, and those who knew the identity of the man facing him, or who had heard of the incident in the café, were anticipating the pleasure.

"Anytime, Curly."

Perhaps it was the softness of Jim West's tone, or the ice that had entered his green eyes. Or maybe the relaxed stance of a man who knew what he was about. In any case, Curly flinched slightly. Not a physical move. But it showed in his eyes. He glanced both ways, saw his two friends watching and waiting. He had made some boasts.

Curly might have thought he would catch the man in the black leather shotgun chaps unawares by making his move quickly, but it didn't work. He got his gun cleared of its holster this time, but that was it. Jim's black-handled Colt blasted in the silence of the room, and Curly screamed, his weapon clattering into the sawdust as he grabbed at his right arm with his left hand, blood spurting between his fingers.

For several seconds, total silence reigned, broken only by Curly's moans as he sank to his knees. Then a loud click sounded behind Jim. He did not turn around, knowing Artie had cocked his pistol and having confirmation when his partner spoke in a quiet but deadly voice.

"Just relax, fellows. It's all over. You'd better get your friend to the doctor before he bleeds all over Mr. Bellingham's carpet."

Someone snickered, and then the silence was completely broken with exclamations of amazement and awe. Jim held his gun ready as Lonergan's friends grabbed his arms to pull him to his feet and steer him toward the door. A nearby man moved forward slightly.

"Mister, I saw Lightnin' McCoy draw down in El Paso, and I thought I would never see anyone faster! But you got him beat by a mile!"

"Well, hell, Jack," spoke the man next to him. "Don't you know? This is the fellow what outdrew McCoy. I heard about that. Down near Denver it was."

Jim holstered his gun, turning his back on the crowd. He never liked this part of it, the admiration and adulation. He had simply been defending himself. When possible, he tried to wound the other man, especially to cripple the gun hand or arm. This time he had been successful. Other times, it was not feasible or possible.

"Want another beer, Jim?" Artie asked quietly beside him.

Jim sighed. "No, I think I'll go back to the hotel. You stick around if you want." He turned and headed for the door, brushing by Sheriff Bird as he belatedly entered, demanding to know what had occurred. _Let the others tell him. I've had enough._

He did pause on the porch of the saloon to glance around, ensuring that Curly and his friends had not decided to set up an ambush. Further down the street, he spotted the trio, with Curly being supported in the middle. Obviously headed for the doctor's home, which Jim knew was down that way. He stepped off onto the dust of the street and crossed, angling toward the hotel.

Only as he entered the lobby did it occur to him that this might be an opportunity to talk to Phalah. Indeed, she was peering out the front window, and she stepped back as he came through the door. "What happened, Mr. West?"

"Little trouble," he replied. "Nothing important. Phalah, may I speak with you?"

Only then did she appear to realize that she had erred by lingering in the lobby. "I have something to do," she said quickly, and turned toward the desk and the door behind it.

"Phalah, please."

The gentle plea in his tone stopped her. He saw her shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh, and she turned back. "Estelle has gone out to visit at the Rolling R. Let's go into the parlor."

She brought coffee from the kitchen, and they settled into chairs in the small room that served as their living area. "You want to know about my… dreams."

"Dreams… visions… sensations. Whatever they are. I know you believe Annie might be in danger, as well as my partner. What did you see, Phalah? Tell me, please."

She sighed again, holding her coffee cup, but not drinking. "It's so hard to explain. I don't really see… pictures. It's all feelings. Just feelings. Knowing. I sensed Annie being very frightened, yet comforted at the same time. I know she's in very grave danger. I simply cannot tell much more about it. Sometimes… sometimes the harder I try, the fainter the… the feelings are."

"You don't have a… a sense of the possible surroundings?"

"Not really. Only, as in the case with Mr. Gordon, darkness. Strangely, it does not feel as much like a grave for her. I cannot explain it, Mr. West. And then Elizabeth…"

Jim was startled. "Elizabeth as well?"

Phalah put her cup down now, as much as a distraction as anything else, allowing her to keep her gaze away from the anxious man sitting across from her. But she had to look at him finally. "I never told anyone about Elizabeth. I was rather startled to realize I'd had a… a vision about her. I barely know her. But it's very similar to that for Annie. She is frightened, yet somehow comforted. It doesn't make sense, Mr. West, I know. But I do know that… it will happen."

"Do you know when?"

She shook her head sadly. "No. It could be tomorrow, it could be weeks. Even years I suppose. Except that I sense that Annie is very young, as she is now."

"Tell me more about my partner, what you see for him."

"It's as I said. Darkness. Pure darkness. He cannot… escape. I felt this sense of frustration in him… but no fear. Not like the children." She lowered her gaze a moment bringing her eyes her eyes up. "The grave is inescapable."

"Is it? I mean, you mentioned you had a vision of your brother's death. Have there been other times when your visions don't play out exactly as you thought they would?"

Phalah was silent a moment. "I had a vision of a wedding at the doctor's home."

"Ah. You undoubtedly believed you were going to be involved."

Her smile was bitter. "I had every reason to believe that. I knew he was fixated on vengeance against Eddington and Armbruster, but I did not know about Mariah. Not until he brought her to the house that night. I should have known better. I have never been able to foretell anything… personal."

"You did not see his death."

"No."

Jim was the one who fell silent now. He drank his coffee, slowly, thoughtfully then finally spoke again. "So it is possible that what you saw… sensed… has an alternative meaning."

"Yes, I suppose so. But I must tell you. It seemed very final. Very… I sensed hate."

"Hate? From Artemus?"

"No. I think… I think he was angry, and as I mentioned, frustrated. But hate was all around."

Jim got to his feet. "Thank you, Phalah. I'm not entirely sure I believe any of it, but you've helped me understand better."

She rose also. "You did not kill the man."

"When? Just now?"

Phalah nodded. "You shot him in is right arm… here." She put her own left hand on her right arm, just below the elbow.

Jim's eyes narrowed. "You saw him come out of the saloon."

"Yes, but I could not see his wound. You can believe that or not. I did not tell you previously. Perhaps I should have. But I knew you were facing danger… in threes. And you must be very careful now. An eagle is watching you."

Jim left her then, feeling more unsettled that he wanted to. _An eagle? Could she know about Stuffy, the sharpshooter? We told only the colonel and his brother, and it's not likely they would have gossiped. _He wanted to slough off her remarks about what just occurred in the Dixie Bell. She could have easily seen Lonergan emerge clutching his arm. But did she? Suffield Colgan, alias "Stuffy," was known for his sharp eyesight, which made him deadly with a long-range rifle.

He had just hung his gun belt on the bedpost and was in the process of pulling off his jacket when he heard Artemus enter the room next door. Jim sat down on the bed, and a moment later, Artemus tapped on the connecting door, then opened it. "You all right?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

Artie stepped into the room, pausing at the foot of the bed, and folding his arms across his chest. "You cleared out of there in a hurry."

Jim grimaced. "I don't really enjoy a shootout like that, Artie."

Artemus smiled. "I know that. But you have a lot of admirers at the Dixie Bell who would have liked to buy you a drink, men who don't admire Curly very much. Seems he's been pretty much of a bully."

"Not surprising."

Jim adjusted a pillow against the headboard, and lay back on it, lifting his arms to fold over the top of his head. "Artie, I've been thinking…"

"Uh-oh."

Jim ignored the sarcastic interruption. "Why don't you leave town?"

"What?" Of all things, that was not what Artie expected his partner to say. "Why? Go where?"

"It occurs to me that we need to prove that Leona didn't leave here. If you checked a few towns where she might have stopped…"

"Wait a minute, James! What the devil is this about?" Artie moved around to the side of the bed, arms akimbo, staring down.

Jim tried to assume a guise of innocence. "I was just thinking how we might build a case against Greave…"

"No. No, that's not it. What are you up to? Why don't _you_ go check these towns? Why don't we just send telegrams?"

"We can't send telegrams because the telegraph operator is under Greave's thumb. You know that."

Now Artemus sat down on the side of the bed, peering hard. "Jim, something has been bothering you the last couple of days. Don't deny it. What is it?"

"Nothing is bothering me other than we need to catch a killer. Murdering men is bad enough. But to kill women…"

Artie rolled his eyes, standing up again. He knew his partner well enough to realize he was not going to get anything out of him. Not this way. "All right. I agree with you there."

"What did Sheriff Bird have to say?"

"Not much. I could tell he was very relieved when several witnesses related that Lonergan pushed for the fight and drew first. I don't think he wanted to try to arrest you." Artie grinned, then it faded. "Greave's reaction might be more interesting."

"You think he sent Curly into town after me?"

"Maybe after both of us. Could be that's why Curly didn't come alone. Makes me wonder if he did indeed buy Jasper's story. Let alone our fabrication about poor Leona."

Jim now sat up, swinging his boots over the side of the bed. "He's a cautious man. He proved that in Washington in sixty-three when he got rid of everyone who could testify against him. I don't think he's through with us yet. Stuffy is still out there."

"Yeah. I was thinking we should ride out to talk to the colonel and Jerry again, but now I wonder if that's a good idea. Colgan could be watching us."

"All the more reason to go, Artemus. Bring him out in the open."

"You mean bring _us_ out into the open, right in his line of sight!"

Jim stood up, grabbing his gun belt. "He tried once and failed."

Artie sighed. "Doesn't mean he'll fail again."

Jim clapped a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Let's go have an early dinner at Ma's and then take a ride out to the Rolling R. We can be back in time for a nightcap at the Dixie Bell."

"If we get back at all," Artie grumbled as he followed his partner out the door.

W*W*W*W*W

Our dangers and delights are near allies,  
From the same stem the rose and prickle rise.

—_ The Battaile of Poictiers under the Fortunes of Edward, Sirnamed the Black_, CharlesAlleyn (1590-1640), English historic poet 

Nothing occurred on the ride out to the Rolling R. "Well, of course not," Artie reasoned as they dismounted at the house. "Greave would not have received word yet that Curly failed. The fun may begin on the way back."

"We can hope," Jim drawled, eliciting a look from his friend. Then both grinned as they headed for the porch.

Annie bounced out to meet them, followed by Nathan and a much more sedate and ladylike Marian, to escort the agents inside. "You missed supper!" Annie cried.

Artie patted her head as they entered the house. "We were fed very well in town."

"At Ma's!" Bradley grinned as he rose from the chair in the living room. "We're going to eat there tomorrow night before the dance party. And give Mother a night off!"

Caroline emerged from the kitchen, folding the apron she had just removed. Elizabeth followed. "The colonel, Mr. Pike, and Daniel are out at the barn," she said. "I'm sure you want to talk to them. Just be sure you spend some time with us before you leave."

With a promise that they would do so, the agents exited, walked around the house toward the barn. Several Rolling R cowhands were lolling on the bunkhouse steps, their day's labor completed. Most of them watched the two men, a couple nodded. Artie wondered if they knew the official status of the colonel, as well as themselves.

They found the three men in the barn, as promised, relaxing on bales of hay. Neither Jim nor Artie were surprised to realize the trio had gone away from the house in order to discuss the current situation without worrying about what the young people might overhear. Colonel Richmond shook his head somberly when Artemus related what had occurred in town.

"I would not be surprised that Greave sent them in after you. We were just wondering how fooled he was by Pike's disguise. Whether he was or not, he's still a dangerous man, and a clever one. Not to mention cold-blooded. He'll do whatever it takes, it seems, to gain his ends."

"All the more reason to get those books as planned," Jim stated. "Just hope he didn't move them—if they were where Jer thought they were in the first place."

"If they are, we should be able to get in and out of there rapidly," Artie said. "We don't need all of them—just the ones relating to Washington in 1863 and Canada in the last few years. If he's been writing them for a long time, there could be quite a stack!"

Jim listened as Jeremy again described the layout of the house and buildings, contributing a question or comment here and there, but his mind was primarily engrossed in figuring out a way to keep his partner safe. He hated that he even remotely credited Phalah's story of her visions, yet he could not dismiss them out of hand. The children's safety was involved as well. _I don't know if I could live with it if I ignored her and something happened… _

The best he could come up with right now was a suggestion that Artemus remain some distance away from the house while he went inside for the books. Artie would not hear of it. "No way. Jim. Could be only the housekeeper will be in the house, but we won't know that until we go inside. Jeremy can stand sentinel after he sets the fire."

_I wish I could get inside your head, James. What in the world is going on in there? _Obviously, Jim was having deep concerns about his partner's safety, and Artie could not comprehend it. Why now? And why not just bring it out into the open? They had always shared the perils of their job in one form or another. Sometimes Artemus entered the lion's den, as he had in the tavern in British Columbia, disguising himself as a French Canadian mountain man to infiltrate Durain's insurrectionist gang. Jim had not had a problem with that; it was something they did all the time. Another time Jim would take the lead, chasing after the Mexican bandits who stole the Arabian horse that was to be a gift for the President of Mexico, for instance. _I didn't like that, but again, it's what we do, why we're successful._

So why now? That question remained in Artie's head all evening, until finally as they rode down the moonlit lane toward Lost Hills, he brought it up. "James, you have been mother-henning me the last couple of days. What's up?"

Jim did not look at him, his gaze on the surrounding landscape. "Don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do! Come on, Jim. You've got to level with me. What's going on?"

"I told you, Artie. Nothing."

Hearing an edge in Jim's voice, Artie let it drop again. They could take it up later, at a better time. He saw how alert his partner was, and he felt the same way, his eyes scanning the countryside, watching for anything out of place near a tree or a rock. The full moon was a blessing and a curse, creating a bright illumination so that they could see their surroundings, but also putting them in plain view of anyone watching them for whatever reason.

They were about halfway to town, near a low rise covered with trees, when Artie spoke in a low voice. "Jim, I saw something move up there. Might have been an animal but…"

"I saw it too. He's going to wait until we're in better range. See that break in the fence up there? I'll head left, you take right."

They rode calmly on another twenty-five or so feet, not displaying any sign that they had noted anything amiss. At that point, on the same side of the road as the hill, the fence had broken down, the poles laying flat along with the strands of wire. Immediately upon reaching that point, both men wheeled their mounts off the road, laying low in the saddle as they did. The meadow there was flat for a distance before starting to rise to the tree-covered hill.

Jim knew he had taken the longer distance, but had the faster horse as he cut around behind the hill. He had his pistol in his hand when he reached the far end of the rise, and upon hearing a couple of rifle shots, he leapt from the saddle and began moving toward the trees. That he did not hear return pistol shots was worrisome, but he did not pause.

He spotted the black and white pinto before he saw the man. Weaving his way through the sparse trees, Jim noticed the steed just outside of the copse, on the "back side" away from the road. Then he saw the rifle carrying man heading toward the horse.

"Stop right there!" Jim bellowed, and fired a shot in the air.

He did not really expect Stuffy to yield that easily, and he didn't, whirling to half lift the rifle while pulling the trigger. The slug whistled past Jim's shoulder, as the marksman continued to raise the gun to get a better sight. Jim stepped to one side, behind a narrow-trunked tree, reached around briefly and fired twice.

He heard the cry of pain, the clatter of the gun hitting the rocks and debris on the ground, then the thud. Peering around the trunk, Jim saw the form sprawled on the ground, the rifle a few inches away from an outstretched hand. Cautiously, he moved toward the fallen man, gun at the ready. When no movement occurred, Jim stepped up, grabbed the rifle first to toss it further away then reached down to turn the body over. One of his bullets had caught Suffield Colgan in the throat, obviously severing the main artery.

Giving no further thought to the dead man, Jim strode past him. "Artie! Where the hell are you!" Artie!"

"I'm here, Jim. You all right?"

Jim saw the shadowy form entering the grove from the far side, and recognized both the voice and shape of his partner. Relief washed over him until he realized that Artie was grasping his left arm. He strode forward. "What happened? Is it bad?"

Artie looked at his partner's face in the shafts of moonlight that filtered through the heavy leaf canopy above them. "It's just a scratch, Jim. But it knocked me down a few seconds. Sorry I wasn't here. Is he dead?" The anxiety of Jim's expression did not seem to warrant the situation. _I'm up and walking; he should know that means I'm relatively all right._

"He's dead. I didn't have a chance to aim, damn it. You sure you're all right? Let me see it."

Artie was forced to peel off his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeve to reveal the slashing cut the bullet had made in his forearm. It was bleeding profusely and it was painful, but nothing dangerous. Jim used both his own neckerchief and Artie's to bind it up, and wanted to go back to the Rolling R but Artie refused.

"No use upsetting the kids, Jim. I know where the doctor's office is in town. I'll go there while you take Stuffy to the sheriff. Almost wish I could be there to see poor Bird's face!"

W*W*W*W*W

Sheriff Bird was definitely not happy. He didn't like being pulled from the parlor of his home situated a few hundred yards behind the sheriff's office, taken away from a quiet evening with his plump wife. He was even unhappier when Jim led him back to the street where one of Farnley Greave's men was slung over the saddle of his horse.

However, he took charge, sending a man who had come out of the saloon to fetch the undertaker, who was also the coroner. "I guess I'll go tell Greave myself in the morning," Bird sighed. "You're saying he ambushed you, Mr. West?"

"That's right. Wounded my partner, though not severely. We believe this was Colgan's second attempt on our lives."

"Well, for goodness sakes, why? Why would he do that? Got a grudge from way back?"

"That might be involved. We ran into Stuffy a long time ago in Oregon. I suspect he was under orders."

Bird scowled. "Orders from who?"

"You figure it out, sheriff. I'll be back in the morning to make an official report. Good night."

Jim mounted and rode down the street to the doctor's office, which was in his home. He found his partner sitting on a table while the physician cleansed the wound.

"Another shirt and jacket ruined!" Artie complained. "Hope the department approves the expense of replacement."

"Easier to replace a shirt than to replace an agent," Jim replied, hoping his voice and face were lighter than he felt. "How does it look, doctor?"

Dr. Buxton peered at him over the spectacles perched on his nose. "Not bad. If he behaves himself and keeps it clean and bandaged, he likely won't lose the arm. I can see by the scars that this isn't the first time you've been shot, Mr. Gordon."

"I'm like a lead magnet," Artie replied, deadpan. "Bullets like me."

"Any of them from the war?"

Artie pointed to a slashing scar under his left ribcage. "This one. Do you want the history of all of them?"

The doctor chuckled then as he started bandaging the arm. "No, Mr. Gordon. I'll take your word for it. I'm going to want you to come back tomorrow so I can change the bandage."

"He will," Jim stated with authority.

Artie eyed his friend. If anyone avoided doctors at all costs, it was Jim West. The fact that he was so worried about this "scratch" was another indication of the state of his mind. _I just have to figure out how to get into that head of his without him taking mine off!_

He got a clue when they entered the hotel a short while later, and Phalah hurried from behind the desk, her eyes fastened on Artie's bloodied shirtsleeve. "Mr. Gordon! Are you all right/" She immediately looked at Jim.

"It's just a scratch," Jim said. "I'm going to make him go to bed, even if I have to sit on him."

"Would you like some tea?"

Artie was about to refuse the offer but Jim nodded. "That would be nice. I'll come back down for it in a short while. Thank you."

Something passed between them, of that Artemus was certain. He looked back at Phalah as they ascended the stairs, and she was still watching anxiously. Artie suddenly remembered what Estelle had said about Phalah's dream concerning Annie. _Is that it? Is Jim worried that somehow the prediction about danger to Annie applies to me as well?_

After making sure that Artie could manage getting his boots off, Jim went back down to the lobby. Phalah was not behind the desk, so he knocked on the door. She opened it a moment later to admit him, telling him that Estelle was in bed. "Mr. Gordon… he is truly all right?"

"Yes, it's just a flesh wound. Do you think…?"

She knew what he was asking, and her eyes were troubled. "No. It's not the same."

"It's dark out…"

Phalah shook his head. "Mr. West, I'm sorry. I truly wish I could say that this was what the dream was about, that Mr. Gordon is out of danger. But I cannot."

Jim did not press it further, accepting the tray bearing the teapot and two cups. He carried them upstairs, where he found his partner already deep in slumber. Leaving the connecting door open, he went into his own room, poured a cup of tea and sat on the bed for a long while, his thoughts deep and troubled, until he realized that the liquid in the cup had cooled to tepid.

W*W*W*W*W

The following day was quiet. The two agents rode out early to the site of the ambush in an attempt to backtrack Colgan, but had no success. The trail appeared to lead toward the Greave spread, but faded out before reaching that destination. They spent some time on the Rolling R again, going over their plans again for Saturday night. The decision was made that the best way of protecting the journals—provided they found them—were for Jeremy Pike to head out immediately with them in his saddlebags.

Pike was given directions to find the Wanderer. Colonel Richmond would write an order to be presented to the crew, whereby they would transport Pike at all possible speed to Kansas City. Once in Kansas City, Jeremy would board another eastbound train while the Wanderer returned to Wyoming. From the Wanderer, Pike would contact other agents to meet him at Kansas City as an escort, acting as fellow passengers.

"It's unlikely that anything is going to happen if we work this right," Jim stated. "With any luck, Greave will not be aware of the theft immediately. Jer should be well on his way east by the time he could send anyone out after him—if he even realizes that we've sent them off!"

"In that case, he'll come after us!" Artie pointed out.

Jim grinned. "The best of both worlds."

Artie released an exaggerated sigh. He did not miss, nonetheless, that although his friend continued to smile, shadows flitted through his green eyes._ Something is greatly worrying him. I still have to figure out how to weasel it out of him!_

After offering excessive sympathy to Jeremy Pike because he would not be able to attend the dance that evening in order to keep his presence secret, the agents returned to town. Jim escorted his partner to the doctor's office so that the bandage could be freshened, then they both went to the local barber for a trim and shave in preparation for the night's festivities.

Apparently supper at Ma's was a tradition with many people before attending the dance, so the restaurant was very busy when the agents entered with the Richmond clan. Romney was busy, but Madora had brought in extra help, two young women who bustled among the tables and apparently also helped in the kitchen. The mood was lively and full of anticipation of an evening's fun.

Jim found himself wondering if Madora planned to attend the party, and realized he was going to be disappointed if not. He would welcome an opportunity to get to know her better. Between his work and hers, they had not had time to talk alone. He knew that a small grassy area with trees alongside a stream was located behind the Town Hall where the dance would occur. The moon was still bright. A walk with the lady could be quite pleasant.

Estelle McCray and her aunt entered the restaurant just after the Richmond party was served, but they were invited to join the group, with everyone scooting chairs around. Artemus noticed first of all that Annie and Nathan appeared to be very fond of Estelle, vying for her to sit next to them. He also saw how Daniel Richmond smiled often in Estelle's direction. At one point, Artie caught Caroline's glance and she smiled knowingly. He had to nod.

_Perhaps Greave's journals will settle the matter of Mary Beth's death. If that weight could be lifted off Daniel's shoulders, their family could become complete again. I will make sure I look for that particular journal, if there's time._ Artie knew that the emphasis was on acquiring proof of Greave's participation in the deaths and intimidation that had occurred in Washington, as well as his activities in Canada.

The meal completed, the group strolled to the Town Hall, which was a one-story building at the edge of town. The offices of the mayor and other town officials resided in the building, but when the structure was planned, someone made a wise decision to provide a large room that would host various affairs, official and otherwise. No other building, outside of someone's barn, was large enough to allow dancing as well as tables for food and drink, along with simple socializing, a reason that brought many residents to the affair. A committee arranged the periodic affairs, which Jim and Artemus were told were not on a strict schedule, depending partially on holidays or if someone had a special date to celebrate—or simply because it was time for a get-together.

The first hour or so of the party went well. The trio of local musicians played lively tunes, and both agents enjoyed themselves not only with the Richmond girls but also with several local belles. Caroline Richmond saw how the ladies eyed Mr. West and Mr. Gordon and smiled inwardly. The ladies' hopes were futile. One was already claimed, and the other probably never would be.

Madora Price and her father arrived, which brightened matters even further for Jim West. He was the first to reach the lovely lady and to ask for a dance. She told him she was really too tired to dance, so he suggested a stroll out to the stream, which Ma accepted immediately. Jim was not entirely surprised when she initiated the first kiss as they paused by the water gleaming silver in the moonlight.

"I've been wanting to do that ever since I first saw you," she sighed, stepping away.

"Don't stop now," he murmured, and she willingly came into his arms again.

After a few moments she laid her head against his shoulder and was silent, until finally she heaved a long, regretful sigh. "I wish I didn't have other plans."

Jim was surprised. "What do you mean?"

Madora lifted her head to look at him. "My future, I mean. I don't plan to marry. A man is not in my expectations at all."

He cocked his head, amused and curious. "What is?"

"Fame and fortune."

"Might one ask how this fame and fortune is going to come about?"

Madora stepped back now, her smile wide. "Through my cooking, Jim. I chose Lost Hills for my restaurant because I knew the stage lines passed through going from several directions. People get off those stages and eat in my restaurant. They have even come back again, making a point to take the coach that stops at Lost Hills."

"That covers the fame, but it doesn't sound like that much of a moneymaker to me."

"No. But when I move to a larger city and open my restaurant, my renown will follow me."

Jim laughed. "Now I have to admit that sounds like a good plan. What's stopping you from going now?"

"Papa. He likes it here. And he loves working in the restaurant. It wouldn't be the same in a larger city with a… a fancier clientele. He knows, and I know, that he's not going to be able to do it forever. Another year or two. Then we'll move to Denver or San Francisco."

"I wish you the best of luck, and I will certainly come eat at your new establishment. But for now…" He held out his arms and she went into them.

"Only sometimes, Jim, I wish I was not so ambitious."

"The future is a long ways off," he told her, bringing his lips to hers.

W*W*W*W*W

_Das eben ist der Fluch der bosen That Das sie fortzeugend immer Boses muss gebaren._

[The very curse of an evil deed is that it must always continue to engender evil.]  
—_Piccolomini_ (V, 1), Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller (1759-1805), German poet dramatist and historian

Jim sensed a change in the atmosphere in the hall when he led Madora inside. He did not immediately discern the reason, but he could feel a subdued tone among the attendees. Across the way, near the refreshment tables, Artemus was standing with Colonel Richmond, and upon seeing his partner enter, Artie caught his eye and glanced to the opposite site of the room.

Farnley Greave was there, with several of his men. They were being ignored, although it appeared Sheriff Bird had just been speaking with them, as the law officer was walking away, toward where his wife was waiting. Yet the rancher's presence was putting a damper on the festivities; that was obvious.

As Jim gazed toward him, Greave turned. For a moment he simply looked at Jim, then appeared to notice the woman at Jim's side, and undoubtedly realized by their position in the room that they had been outside together. Greave scowled, then started toward them.

"I'm exhausted, Jim," Ma murmured. "I'm going to get Papa and go home. Thank you for the lovely walk."

She turned and left him before he could say anything. Not wishing to cause any manner of a scene, Jim remained where he was, until he saw that Greave was going to try to cut off Madora before she got to the door with her father. Jim quickly moved to do some intercepting of his own, catching Greave by the arm.

"Mr. Greave! I was hoping for an opportunity to speak to you. My partner and I were going to visit you again."

Greave's sour expression deepened. "What about?"

Jim smiled mildly. "Just wondering if you had thought of any further information regarding Leona Darwin."

The rancher glanced toward the door, seemed to realize that Madora Price was out of his reach now. "No, nothing. Sorry."

"Too bad. I also wanted to mention Suffield Colgan."

"Who?"

"I asked you about him previously. Known as Stuffy. He tried to ambush my partner and me. We had to kill him." Jim spoke conversationally, keeping his gaze steady on the other man's face.

Greave's eyes were icy. "As I told you before, never heard of him." He turned and stalked toward the refreshment tables.

Artemus left the colonel and joined his partner near the door. "Talk about a wet blanket. You could just feel the fun and relaxation drain away when Greave showed up."

"Wonder why he comes. He must know he's not welcome."

"Maybe that's why. Some men are like that."

Jim just nodded, and glanced toward the men who had come in with Greave. They were still on the far side of the room, not making any attempts to socialize—and currently staring toward the agents. One was a man who had been in the company of Curly in the saloon. "Hope they aren't here to make trouble."

"Yeah. I think even Sheriff Bird was worried about that. He made a beeline for Greave as soon as he entered." Artemus turned and looked toward the refreshment tables; he expression hardened. "Excuse me, Jim."

Momentarily puzzled, Jim watched Artemus head toward the tables, where Greave was standing with a cup of lemonade and gazing further down the room. Jim saw it then. Caroline and her daughters were in a conversation with an older woman who had her back to Greave. But Caroline was facing Greave, and her eyes were blazing.

Although Jim could not see Greave's face, he had no doubt of what Artemus had spotted in his expression. Greave was leering at the two young women, fortunately neither of who had noticed yet. Artemus strode up to Caroline's group, pausing alongside the older woman, who smiled at him and stepped slightly to the side. Between Artie and the woman, who had a rather wide girth, the girls were blocked from Greave's view.

Jim kept his gaze on Greave and saw his shoulders stiffen. He was quite aware of what Artemus Gordon had done. When he turned to look toward Jim West, his expression was ugly. He strode across the room, shouldering through dancers, until he reached his men. He then led them from the dance hall. Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Jim moved toward his partner.

Caroline waited until the lady with whom she had been conversing, the wife of the mayor, led Marian and Elizabeth away to meet some other young people, then she turned to Artemus. "Thank you."

Jim came up as Artemus replied. "I wish I could have done more than simply blocked him off." He glanced at his partner. "That man is dangerous, Jim."

"I know. In more ways than simply being land and power hungry."

"Please don't tell the colonel about this," Caroline said then. "Not now, anyway. I'll do it later, in my own way. James needs to be aware, but I'm afraid he might do something rash right now."

Jim smiled. "Of course." Then his smile faded. "We need to get proof that he harmed Mary Beth Richmond."

"I had that thought, Jim," Artie said. "When we go for the journals, we need to look for one written two years ago. It's important."

"I agree. Tomorrow night cannot come soon enough to suit me!"

W*W*W*W*W

This is the curse of every evil deed, that, propagating still, it brings forth evil.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), English poet and critic

In retrospect, the government men marveled at how smoothly their plan worked. West, Gordon, and Pike rode out after sunset, while the Richmond brothers waited another half an hour before following, taking up a position in the darkness on the same hill where Jim and Artemus had watched "Jasper" approach the ranch a few days earlier. They were simply to act as backup, which as it turned out, was not needed.

All was dark and quiet, with lamplight gleaming through the windows of both the house and bunkhouse when Jeremy worked his way around behind an old chicken house. This structure was separate from the barn and at enough of a distance on the calm night to lessen the chances for the fire to spread. They did not want to harm the animals in and near the barn. He used the building's own dry wood to ignite the fire; they had already decided not to use any kerosene or other accelerant that would immediately indicate arson and could make Greave suspect other motives.

Jim and Artemus positioned themselves on the opposite side of the house, one at the front and one at the rear area, hiding among bushes that bordered the building. Within short order, the odor of smoke drifted their way, and presumably someone else smelled it as well, because the yell of "fire!" went up almost immediately. Jim was at the front of the house where he saw Farnley Greave come out onto the porch, followed a moment later by the housekeeper. Greave had a napkin in his hand, which he threw down on the porch before heading out to investigate. The housekeeper remained on the porch, peering toward the buildings beyond.

Jim crept back to Artemus, and the two agents entered the house through the rear door. With their own brief experience inside, along with Jeremy's description, they found their way to Greave's second floor bedroom easily. Jim pulled the drapes on the only window shut, while Artemus lit a small candle, kneeling beside the metal cabinet they had been told about. Picking the lock required only seconds.

Artie was relieved and quite pleased to see that Farnley Greave had carefully labeled every journal with the dates, and sometimes locations. One drawer was completely full, while the other about half so. He quickly sorted through them, finding the ones that were designated as Washington, DC, then Canada, all of which were in the bottom drawer. The one covering the period two years ago was in the top.

He was careful to leave the stacks of books as close to how he found them, moving a couple from the top drawer to the bottom in order to level the stacks. Chances were very good that Greave did not open the bottom drawer often, and he might not notice that the other drawer held fewer, unless he specifically counted them.

Jim was at the window, peering through a tiny crack he made with his finger, pulling the drape aside. "They're doing a good job of quenching the fire," he said in a low voice.

"Plus we don't know whether the housekeeper remained outside," Artie returned, pushing the journals into a burlap sack he had brought along. "I think I've got what we need. Let's go."

As he extinguished the candle, Jim reopened the drapes. The window had been open a few inches, so they hoped that the smoke from outside would cover the residue of the odor the candle made upon being put out. They got back out through the kitchen door without incident, and hastened to the horses that had been left a hundred yards or so away. Pike was already there. Silently the three men mounted and rode away in a circular route that led them behind the hill where Colonel Richmond and his brother waited. Those two had seen the exit of the agents from the house and were watching for them. The five men returned to the Rolling R.

They took the time to leaf through the journals, expressing satisfaction with the contents. By tacit consent, the one containing information about Mary Beth Richmond was kept away from Daniel. He was pretty much on the periphery, anyway, aware that this was official business. Whether it occurred to him that Greave might have recorded the death of his wife, the others did not know just now.

Jim was the one who found the entry, and he turned his back to Daniel as he scanned it, lest the rage he experienced boiled over and was displayed. Without a word he put the book into the packet they were making up for Pike to transport.

"This should do it," the colonel exclaimed with satisfaction. "As soon as we know these are safely in Washington, we'll arrest Greave."

Pike headed out into the darkness, taking a route that would lead him far away from the Greave ranch and lessening the chances of encountering someone from there. He would send a coded message back to town once he reached the Wanderer, and from other points along the way. Jim and Artemus rode part way with him, and as they did, Jim related what he had found in the journal dated two years previous.

"Greave knew that Mary Beth rode almost every day. He watched her sometimes, and on this day decided to approach her. She had dismounted to apparently enjoy some wildflowers, and he pretty much crept up on her. When she rebuked him and started to mount her horse again, he grabbed her and… attempted to assault her. Her struggles angered him, and he grabbed a rock to strike her with, apparently wanting to stun her. Hit her harder than he wanted to, it seems, and killed her. He did not express any regret, only annoyance that she resisted him."

"My God," Jeremy breathed. "The man is a monster."

"I wish we would have had time to find one with information on Leona," Artie said grimly. "With any luck, we'll get them all later."

"If our luck holds," Jim commented, "Greave won't realize any of the journals have been stolen until we go in to arrest him."

W*W*W*W*W

The following morning at the hotel, Jim managed to have a few words with Phalah while waiting for Artemus to come down so they could head to Ma's for breakfast. He could see that she was reluctant to speak to him, and for that reason alone he almost did not. Nevertheless, he approached her at the desk.

"The party seemed to be a great success last night," he smiled.

She nodded, returning a tentative smile. "Yes. Everyone appeared to enjoy themselves… especially after Mr. Greave departed."

"That did help. Phalah…"

"I… I had another dream, Mr. West."

He wished he could experience some hope from her words; that he knew she was not going to recant her former prophecy. The sadness in her eyes was revealing. "What was it?"

Her unwillingness to voice it was obvious, but he waited. Finally she spoke in a low, tense tone. "I had almost the same dream about Mr. Gordon. About the darkness… the grave. This time… this time he was not alone."

Oddly, the idea that she might be going to include himself in the grave now did not startle or worry Jim. "Who was with him?"

Phalah lifted her gaze, and tears were welling in the corners of her dark eyes. "Annie and Elizabeth."

"Are you sure?" Jim's own voice was a hoarse, horrified whisper.

The moisture trickled down her cheeks but she ignored it. "It was so much plainer… and yet still… I don't know what it means, Mr. West. They were in darkness. I couldn't see them but I knew they were there. I wanted to help… but a curtain seemed to be in my way."

"A curtain?"

"I don't know how to explain it."

"Did you see anything besides the darkness?"

Phalah nodded. "A mountain. For some reason, I saw a mountain, or a high hill. It had three trees on top of it. I don't know what that means."

"Hey, Jim! I'm starved. Let's go eat. Good morning, Phalah. Great party last night, eh?"

She turned slightly away and wiped the tears away surreptitiously before turning back with a bright smile. "It was, Mr. Gordon. Everyone looks forward to these get-togethers in Lost Hills."

"Let's go eat," Jim said, more briskly than he intended.

Artemus glanced at his partner as they left the hotel and started across the street. Here it was again: something was eating at Jim. _Something involving Phalah? I need to talk to her…_

But the opportunity did not arise. As previously planned, after finishing breakfast, they first checked the telegraph office, where a message was waiting from Artie's cousin William stating that the new baby boy had arrived safely. Relieved to know that Pike was on the Wanderer and heading east, the agents went out to the Rolling R to deliver the news.

Colonel Richmond's orders that both of them remain at the ranch came as a relief to Jim. The colonel apologized for not making the decision sooner so that they could have brought their gear from the hotel, but suggested that one of the hired men could take a note to Miss McCray asking her to bring their personal items to the ranch. He would also arrange for any telegraph messages to be delivered to the ranch.

Artie protested and the colonel overruled him, of course. As soon as they were alone, Artie demanded to know why his partner had not argued as well. Jim only shrugged. "Makes sense to me, that's all. We need to be here and ready to go after Greave as soon as Jer confirms his arrival in Washington."

Artemus expelled an exasperated breath. "James, what the devil is going on with you?" They were in the room Caroline showed them to. Jim was sprawled on the bed while Artemus paced the floor.

"Nothing's going on," Jim answered casually. He knew that being on the ranch did not mean that Artemus was perfectly safe, but at least here he could keep an eye on his partner and the two girls. The revelation regarding Elizabeth and Annie was terrifying, and he simply could not comprehend what it could mean. _If only Phalah's visions were more explicit! It would also help if I could convince myself it's all hogwash. But I can't seem to do that…_

Artemus stopped by the bed and stared down at his partner. "Jim, something has been eating at you almost since we arrived here. Why won't you tell me?"

Jim sat up now, swinging his legs over the edge. "Nothing's wrong, Artie. Maybe I'm just tense about Greave. We don't want him to get wind of this and skip out. Which side do you want?"

"Which side of what?"

"The bed!"

Artie rolled his eyes. "I think I'll sleep on the floor. The last time we had to share a bed, that's where I ended up anyway because you hogged the whole thing."

"Suit yourself." Jim got up, stretching his arms. "Guess I'll go make sure Blackjack is settled in." He strolled from the room, leaving his partner shaking his head.

_Jim should leave his brain to science. It has to be made of stone: impenetrable._ After a moment, Artemus left the room, still pondering over Jim's behavior. Something was wrong. He knew Jim West better than any other person; quite possibly better than Jim knew himself. Despite that Jim could disguise his thoughts and feelings, little signs always appeared, and they were appearing now. Most pronounced were the evasiveness, the insistence that all was well, and then the quick change of subject.

_I have this gut feeling it has something to do with Phalah's dream about Annie. But if that's the case, why is Jim so reluctant to discuss it? If he's worried about the child's safety, he should be willing to tell me so we can deal with it together. I just don't…_ He paused on the stairs. _It has to involve me! For some reason, Jim is worried about me!_

But that didn't make sense. In the first place, Jim West would be the last person to believe in a psychic's prediction. He had not mentioned the one about Annie again, leading Artemus to believe he had disregarded and forgotten it. _Then again, as I have, Jim experienced some strange occurrences during our careers together, just as he mentioned. I know those events have caused me to be more open to at least investigate other possibly unbelievable ideas. Do they affect him the same way?_ _Maybe in this case I don't know him as well as I think I do!_

He tried to find an opportunity to speak to Jim alone throughout that day, but almost as though Jim expected such a maneuver—and wanted to avoid it—he was always with someone. He spent time with Bradley showing him how to train his new horse. He sat with Elizabeth and Marian on the porch swing, teasing them and seemingly very relaxed. Other times he was with at least one or all members of the household, such as at the meals, and in the evening enjoying the cooling twilight on the porch.

_We will be alone when we retire! He can't escape that._

However, as if he expected the confrontation, Jim slipped off to the room rather early, apparently telling only Caroline he was retiring. By the time Artemus realized his partner was not returning to the parlor where the family assembled when darkness closed in, Jim was settled in bed and asleep—or pretending to be so. He refused to respond to Artie's voice or prodding, and simply kept his back to him.

The following day was not any better in that respect. Jim arose earlier and was shaved and dressed and gone by the time Artemus awakened. Artie knew his partner had deliberately been quiet so as not to disturb him, which only served to disturb him more. As the day progressed, Artemus found his anger and concern growing. He wondered if displaying that anger might shake Jim into a confession, but hesitated in using it. _I don't know what would happen and I sure don't want to start a commotion here! _

Two telegraph messages were delivered from town, both indicating Pike and his escorts—and the precious satchel full of journals—were progressing without incident. The government men hoped that meant Greave had not discovered the theft yet. They wanted to be able to ride up to Greave's house and take him into custody with as little trouble as possible.

Estelle and Phalah McCray arrived that evening for supper, having been invited at the festivities Friday night. At first Artemus was elated, certain he would have an opportunity to speak to Phalah and learn what she might have told Jim. He soon realized, however, that Phalah was going to be as elusive as Jim in the matter of being alone. She and Estelle joined Caroline in the kitchen to talk and help, and then afterwards someone was always around. Artie certainly did not want to bring up a dark prediction for Annie in either the girl's presence, or her father's.

Although they retired to the room together, Artie had no better luck in getting his partner to open up. Even allowing some irritation to creep into his tone did not help. Jim just muttered that he wanted to sleep and that was that.

W*W*W*W*W

The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men,

Gang aft a-gley,

And leave us nought but grief and pain,

For promised joy.

—_To a Mouse_ (st. 7), Robert Burns (1759-1796), Scottish Poet

Good news arrived the following morning in a coded telegraph message stating that Pike was in Ohio, about to enter Pennsylvania. Upon reaching Harrisburg, he would change trains to go directly to Washington. He expected to arrive at his final destination by this evening or the morning at the latest.

The men at the Rolling R experienced grim satisfaction, and began to plan their next move more explicitly. Because of the number of armed men in Greave's camp, Colonel Richmond felt that they should involve Sheriff Bird and a posse, but Jim and Artemus disagreed. They thought they could go in again on the pretense of asking about the missing Leona, arrest Greave quietly and take him out without any interference. Late tonight would be a good time, when the men would likely be in the bunkhouse. Richmond finally reluctantly agreed, although he insisted that he and some other men would be nearby, just in case.

Jim spent a couple of hours in the corral again, putting Blackjack through his paces, and showing Bradley Richmond how he taught the horse to respond to certain whistled or hand signals. Bradley's appaloosa appeared to be a smart horse, and already had caught onto a couple of tricks, much to his young owner's delight. Bradley was all but certain now he would arrange to take the horse back east with him. He could always bring him back when he visited his uncle's ranch. He did not want to leave this treasure behind.

They washed up at the pump out back when the sun was high, aware that the noonday meal would be ready soon. As they entered the kitchen, Caroline and Marian shooed them on through, not wanting males in their way as they completed preparations. Jim found the two Richmond brothers in the living room, along with Nathan, who was getting a lesson in chess from his uncle.

Jim glanced through the windows toward the front porch. "Where's Artemus?"

Daniel looked up. "I thought they went out to watch you two with the horses."

Something tightened in Jim's chest. "They? No one came out there." The corral was within sight of the house, but he and Bradley had not been paying any attention to anything that occurred there. "Who was with Artie?" He knew the answer but had to ask it.

James Richmond saw the expression on his agent's face and he stood up. "Elizabeth and Annie. Didn't they show up out there? They went close to two hours ago, soon after you went to the corral!"

"No," Bradley answered. "We didn't see them at all."

Now Daniel was on his feet. "I'll bet Annie talked Artemus into going to see her special place."

"What's that?" Jim asked.

"It's a hollow of sorts, maybe another hundred feet from the spot I showed you a few days ago. There are some wildflowers and a log. Her mother used to take her there to read stories. It should not take this long…" The worry was contagious. Jim knew Daniel was also thinking of Phalah's dream.

"I can show you!" Nathan exclaimed and headed out the door before anyone could stop him.

The men followed the boy, pausing only a moment at the shack to ask the cook if he had seen the trio. Yes, he confirmed. They were heading toward the stream back there. Nathan was well ahead of them, so they continued on. As they crossed a small wooden bridge over the stream, the little boy's head popped up, seeming out of the ground further on.

"They're not here!"

Jim broke into a sprint then, not looking back to see if anyone else had done so. He reached the swale in the ground and paused. It was as Daniel had described, a bowl perhaps a dozen feet wide and six feet deep at the deepest. A log lay at one side, and flowers were blooming indiscriminately all around. A beautiful, solitary place. Except…

"Where are they?" Daniel demanded as he pulled up alongside Jim.

Jim just shook his head. "Stay here." 

He did not immediately find any signs. However, about fifty feet out, in a bare, rather muddy swath, hoof prints of horses were visible. They looked fresh, but now he waved the others forward. "Could these be from your men?" he asked, looking at Daniel Richmond.

Dan quickly shook his head. "They are working on the other side of the spread today. I don't have any cattle in this area." Fear was on his face. "Jim…"

"I don't know. I need to get my horse." He turned and raced back toward the buildings.

W*W*W*W*W

The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

The Moon, their Mistress, had expired before;

The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

And the clouds perish'd; darkness had no need

Of aid from them—she was the Universe.

—_Darkness_, Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824), English poet

He knew he had never experienced darkness so complete. Or perhaps the situation rendered the darkness darker, accented by fear and despair. The two girls huddled on either side of him, Annie nearly on his lap, and he kept his arms around both, offering what little comfort he could. He knew they were terrified. He was too.

The assault had been unexpected; completely unexpected. In retrospect, saying he had been foolish and careless was easy. But the fact was they had been still within sight of the house. He had glanced around just as they reached the hollow Annie insisted that he had to see, and was able to see the second story of the two-story structure.

Elizabeth had suggested they go out and watch Bradley—and Jim—with the horses, and Annie tagged along. Just as they went out the back door, Annie was begging Mr. Gordon to come see her "special place." Elizabeth had heard of it too, and acquiesced, saying they could come back to the corral to watch the men and horses. So they strolled out beyond the barn and across the stream, Annie clutching his hand and skipping happily alongside as she told him how her mother used to bring both her and Nathan here to read to them on nice days, but often Nathan was not interested, so it became a place for the two "girls" to be together.

He had seen nothing; had not looked for anything. He knew now that the riders were hidden behind a clump of trees and brush, just about twenty feet away. Silently secreted. Only when the man and two girls were down in the bowl did they suddenly appear, five of them, guns drawn, ordering them to climb out and not make a sound.

Artemus had pleaded with them to allow the girls to return to the house, but they refused, demanding that each girl mount up with one of the men, while Artemus was commanded to board one riderless horse they had brought along, his hands tied behind him. All he could do was to remain calm and assure the children that all would be well.

They had departed rather slowly, and Artemus realized that the careful departure was to try to ensure that not only were they not leaving tracks in an exposed area, but to remain as quiet as possible. A couple of the men cursed aloud when they suddenly came upon a bare, muddy patch, but they did not halt, moving onto grass again. The soft, fresh green grass would soon spring back up and leave little trace of their passage.

A couple of miles off, Farnley Greave was waiting for them. He sent all but two of the men back to his ranch, again not listening to Artemus's pleas or threats to send the girls home. Although Greave expressed mild surprise that the two young females were with Gordon, he also seemed very pleased. As they rode, he explained matters.

"I'm delighted it's you, Mr. Gordon. You should not have interfered the night of the dance. But it would not have mattered which of the agents was brought to me. I know you have the journals, Mr. Gordon. The only way you are going to live—and the young ladies as well—is for those journals to be returned to me."

"It's too late, Greave. They are thousands of miles away."

Greave did not believe him and continued to insist that the trio would be held hostage until West brought the journals to the house. He would then reveal the location of the hostages. He seemed to believe that would be the end of it. Madness gleamed in his eyes, overwhelming any reasoning.

Greave was eager to explain how he discovered the theft the day before, whereupon he set about devising his plan. Having learned in town that the two agents had moved to the Rolling R, he sent men to watch, with instructions that if either of the two agents separated from the other and especially from the house, he was to be taken—along with anyone with him.

"I knew one of you would eventually stray," Greave beamed. "You are not men accustomed to being confined to a single space."

Artie did not bother to contradict him, to tell him that they had been content for these few days because of the plan they had in effect. As far as Greave was concerned, that one agent had removed himself from the house was an example of his own brilliance. He had predicted it would happen, and it had. He had been prepared to wait as long as it took.

"But the journals will be in Washington tonight, Greave. You should just surrender. Even if you kill me now, it won't do any good. Your days are numbered."

"Not necessarily. I always triumph, Gordon. Always."

So they had continued on, and Artemus realized they were heading for the barren area that extended below the hills he and Jim had crossed to get to this area. Greave knew exactly where he was going, and as they neared, he explained his plans. Some long time ago he had discovered a pit that someone, probably a prospector, had dug at the base of one of the hills; a very deep pit. Someone had covered it with an old barn door, and over time, the door became littered with dirt and rock, almost invisible until one was directly upon it. He had found it by accident when his horse rode over it and he noticed the sound of the hooves on the wood.

"I did not know at the time how valuable it would be to me. I don't think anyone else knows about it. This is a far corner of my land, so no one trespasses here."

Artemus looked around. The land was almost desert like for at least a quarter of a mile after leveling out from the hills. Even the hills were nearly bare, with just three scrubby trees atop the one nearest the site. Once again, he attempted to plead for the girls' lives, and once again was ignored.

They had been lowered into the pit, Artemus first, so that he could grasp the girls and help them down. Both were sobbing in fear and Artie had his arms around them as he looked up. "Greave, for God's sake! Don't do this! Are you human?"

Greave had leaned over, and although his face was shadowed by the brightness behind him, the evil leer on his face was evident. "I'm more than human, Gordon. One day everyone is going to realize it. In the meanwhile, you'd better pray your friend West has more sense that I dare attribute to him. It's the only way you'll see daylight again!"

Then the door had been placed over the opening. At first some stray beams of light poked through the cracks in the slats, but they soon disappeared as dirt was shoveled over top. Artie heard thumps that indicated they were probably also rolling rocks onto it, to make it look as natural as possible. Perhaps some brush as well.

Artie was unsure now how much time had elapsed since they had been put into this pit. He had extracted himself from the girls long enough to feel around the sides, finding out that Greave's boast that the pit was inescapable was true. It was at least fifteen feet deep, and perhaps six by six square. The surfaces were smooth and hard, allowing no hand- and footholds.

"Mr. Gordon? I'm scared. Are we going to die?"

Artie tightened his arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "Jim's still out there. As long as he's free, we have a chance. Don't give up hope, either of you. I won't."

W*W*W*W*W

Mud, raised by hurricanes, wells up in the noblest and purest of hearts.

—Honore de Balzac (1799-1850), French novelist 

He knew the Richmond brothers were following him but he never looked back and never slowed down. He had been unable to pick up a trail again after the few in the mud patch, but he did not need a visible trail. He knew. He knew where he needed to go to find the missing.

Colonel Richmond had attempted to talk to him while he saddled the black horse, but Jim had not heard him. The rage boiling in his heart and brain blocked out all sounds. All he became aware of was the frantic questions Caroline Richmond was asking about her daughter and niece. He saw the horror on the face of Daniel Richmond as he realized that something terrible had happened. So he had simply mounted and started riding.

Ahead was the Greave ranch. Jim did not slow the horse down until he reached the front porch, when he skidded to a dusty halt. Only then did he see the two men lying on the ground in the area toward the corral, and he saw the men standing in a semi-circle some yards beyond. The expressions on the faces of several seemed to be shock. Then Greave came around the house. He was as usual impeccably attired, except this time he was wearing a gun in a holster at his side.

The sight of the dead men momentarily cooled Jim's rage. "What happened here?" he demanded.

Greave smiled. "I had a little problem with my employees. What can I do for you, Mr. West?"

The smirk brought Jim's attention back. "Where are my partner and the two girls?"

Greave gazed up at the mounted man, his expression placid now. "Where are my journals?"

"Long gone," Jim growled. "If that's your plan, it's too late. You might as well give up… and tell me where Mr. Gordon and the two girls are." He heard the horses approaching behind him but did not look around.

"Mr. Gordon tried to convince me of that lie," Greave replied smoothly. "I didn't believe him and I don't believe you. I'm the only one who knows where they are. I want my journals. They represent my life's work! If you don't return them to me, your partner and those girls will die in a dark and lonely place."

"Where's my daughter!" Daniel Richmond raged as he pulled his horse to a halt alongside Jim's. "Damn you! Where is she?"

The colonel stopped his horse next to his brother's. "Dan, hold on. I'm sure Mr. Greave will be reasonable now that he knows he's lost."

"Are you going to give me the same story?" Greave replied calmly, his expression smug. "As I was just telling West, I don't believe it. You couldn't have transported them anywhere. They are here somewhere. You tell me where they are and once I have them safely, I'll reveal where…"

Dan snapped then. With a curse he urged his horse forward toward Greave, who responded by drawing his gun. Jim had no choice but to draw his own. The sudden movement of Dan's horse caused Blackjack to shy slightly, and as Jim lifted his gun to fire at Greave, that action by his horse averted his aim. Greave staggered back and fell.

Jim quickly dismounted and knelt by Greave. He looked up, his face stark. "He's dead."

The colonel came down off his horse. "Someone else must know." Pulling the gun from inside his coat he turned to face the still gawking men. "Who knows where Greave secreted the agent and the two girls? Talk! It'll go easier on you."

The man who had been with Curly that first day in the café stepped forward. "Ain't none of us know, mister. Greave and those two fellows on the ground there were the only ones."

"Who killed them?"

"Greave did. They started fretting 'bout those two little girls and told him so. They wanted to go get them. Greave shot them down in cold blood. Never blinked an eye. I seen men die in battle, and on the street. Ain't never seen anything so cold."

Dan grabbed his brother's arm. "Don't believe them!"

James glanced at him then looked at the stark face of his agent. "Jim?"

Jim West knew he had never felt so helpless. "I'm afraid it might be true."

"Oh God," Daniel moaned. "It's my fault! God, I'm sorry! I was so angry and scared…"

"We all are," his brother said softly, his eyes still on Jim West. "What is it, Jim?" He had seen Jim's expression alter slightly.

"Phalah," Jim breathed. "She might be our only chance."

"Phalah? What do you mean?"

Jim swung up into the saddle. "Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can. And Colonel, I wouldn't try to hold any of those men. They aren't going to cause us any more trouble." Jerking the reins, he kicked the black into a gallop, laying low in the saddle. Speed was important. Greave had not explicitly stated so, but Jim knew. Wherever Artie and the girls were, they needed to be rescued as swiftly as possible.

Getting back to Lost Hills consumed a precious half-hour. Jim leapt out of the saddle, not bothering to tie off the horse, as he dashed into the hotel lobby. Estelle was at the desk, and she looked up, startled, when Jim demanded to know where Phalah was.

"In the parlor…"

He dashed by her to the door, pushing it open. Phalah was on the sofa, mending in her hands. "Mr. West! What's happened?" she stood up, sewing falling to the floor.

"I need you, Phalah. Artie, Elizabeth, and Annie need you."

Her hands clasped to her throat. "It's happened…"

"Yes." As Estelle entered behind him, Jim quickly related the events of the last couple of hours. "I don't know where they are, but I know wherever it is, they are going to die if we don't find them. Phalah, where are they?"

Tears filled her eyes. "I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know!"

He grasped her shoulders, shook her slightly. "Phalah, please, I know you can help. You have to!"

Unnerved, Estelle put her hand on Jim's arm. "Mr. West…"

He realized then what he had been doing and stepped back. "I'm sorry, Phalah. It's just…"

"I know, I know," Phalah whispered. Her eyes sought her niece. "I can't…"

Now Estelle was the one who grasped her shoulders, more gently than Jim had. "Aunt, are you sure? I remember…"

Phalah pulled out of her grip, turning away. "And look what happened!"

"What's she talking about?" Jim asked, bewildered.

Estelle looked at him. "Many years ago in our home town, two children went missing. Phalah told the parents they had fallen into an abandoned well and drowned. They were found just where Phalah said they would be. Only the fact that Phalah had an alibi, having been in church helping the minister with some charitable work, saved her from being arrested. But then she was… everyone thought she was a witch. She had to leave our home."

"I see." Jim did not realize how much misery appeared in his voice, and in his eyes. "I understand." He dropped his gaze to the floor. _What now? I can't force Phalah to ruin her life…_

No one spoke or moved for several long moments. Jim's thoughts were occupied with how he was going to find his partner and the children. The only answer seemed to be to mobilize virtually every citizen in the area for a search. But would they be in time? Chances were good they were hidden somewhere on Greave's property, but he had a large spread. Greave had indicated time was of the essence. He was just about to quietly thank the ladies and depart, when Phalah looked around.

"But I can't allow Annie and Elizabeth and Mr. Gordon to die. If… if I have to… leave afterwards, so be it."

Estelle grasped her aunt's hand. "If they chase you out, they'll chase me out too."

"Thank you, Phalah," Jim breathed.

She gazed at him. "I can't promise anything. I will tell you that… that I had a further vision. A door."

"A door? What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I simply saw a door. Only it wasn't… it did not seem to be a door into a building or a room. A large door, covered with what appeared to be some kind of plants."

"All right," Jim nodded. "Our first clue may be the hill you saw with the trees. We're going to need to get people involved who are very familiar with the area. I'll go hitch up your buggy and have it out front in a few minutes." Now he extended his hand. "Phalah, no matter what the outcome, you will have my eternal gratitude."

She took his hand almost hesitantly. Then she smiled. "Let me change my clothes. I'll be right along."

As Jim headed out through the lobby the front door opened and Sheriff Bird entered. "Mr. West? I saw you ride in like you was on fire, and then you didn't even tie off your horse. What's going on?"

Jim jerked his head for the sheriff to following him back through the hotel toward the rear door, explaining in clipped terms what had occurred this day. He saw the sheriff's face go white, and then assume a determine expression.

"I knew he was bad. The threats he made against my family… nothing I could prove. But I just knew he'd carry them out. Fact that he done this to two little girls just shows it. Mr. West, I'm going to round up as many folks as I can. Where do you want us to meet you?"

"We're going back to Greave's place for a start. Sheriff, do you know of a barren hill with just three trees at the top?"

Bird frowned deeply. "I got a notion I've seen it. Those hills out there all look the same, you know what I mean? But maybe someone else will know. I'll get bustin' and see you at Greave's place."

Estelle emerged with her aunt, telling Jim they were just locking up the hotel for now. No stage was due so new guests were unlikely. If any showed up, they would just have to wait. She took the reins as Jim led the way at a fast pace out of town.

W*W*W*W*W

Farewell!  
For in that word,—that fatal word,—howe'er  
We promise—hope—believe,—there breathes despair.

Lord Byron (George Gordon Noel Byron; 1788-1824**)**, English poet

He was uncomfortable, but what difference did it make? The rock-hard walls and floor of the pit were not exactly featherbeds. His wounded arm was throbbing. Nonetheless, he did not want to move, lest he disturb either of the girls. He was certain Annie was asleep, her head now on his thigh, as she curled into a little ball against him. He kept his hand on her shoulder half convinced that if he moved it, she would waken. Her slumber was undoubtedly due to exhaustion… and the fact that their air was diminishing. The soil Greave had had spread on the old door covering the pit was also cutting off the flow of any fresh air through possible cracks.

On the other side, Elizabeth cuddled against him, head on his shoulder. Artie was uncertain if she was sleeping, and was not surprised when she spoke in a whisper. "Are we going to die, Mr. Gordon?"

"Not if Jim West has anything to say about it," he replied in an equally soft tone, but with firmness. "I have great faith in my partner, Elizabeth. He's pulled me out of tight spots before. He'll be here." _You'd better, James. The scales are still tipped in my favor. You owe me a few rescues. Above all, you need to help these children!_

Time meant nothing in this inky darkness. The fact that the pit was on the warm side suggested the sun was still beating down. But he really did not know how much time had elapsed since Greave put them into the hole.

"I know Father and Uncle Dan are looking as well. They must be. Don't you think?"

"I'm sure of it, honey. When we did not return to the house, they would have gone looking. I have no doubt Jim is on the job. He won't let Greave get away with it." _He just needs to convince Greave that the journals are gone, far out of his reach. But will he believe it? He didn't believe me. I guess we had no idea that those journals meant so much to him. Most men, upon discovering they were gone, would have decamped for Mexico or other parts unknown._

"I'm so tired," Elizabeth murmured.

"Go to sleep," Artie urged. "I'll keep watch. And I'll let you know as soon as something happens." He tipped his head over and kissed her forehead. "It's going to be all right, Elizabeth. I promise." _This is one promise I need to keep. But if I can't… well, it would be better if she slept, free from fear._

He had talked to the girls quite a bit early on, regaling them with tales of his days on the stage, a few war stories that were humorous and non-frightening, and some similar incidents in their careers as agents. Annie had particularly liked the story about the landlady who kept feeding him her atrocious burgoo, believing he was a preacher. "Worst stuff I ever tasted, and I had to keep eating it because she hadn't yet told me what I needed to know!"

Leaning his head back against the rocky wall, Artemus closed his own eyes, then quickly opened them into the darkness. _I can't go to sleep. If I hear any indication that someone is above us, I have to be alert and aware, ready to yell to try to get their attention. _But the thinning oxygen was making it more and more difficult.

W*W*W*W*W

Jim saw the surprise on the faces of the people waiting at the Greave house when he approached, followed by the buggy. He himself was not surprised to see Caroline Richmond and the three other youngsters on the porch with the colonel and his brother. The housekeeper was also there. The bodies had been moved somewhere. Several men still lingered near the corral, but nowhere near the number who had been there earlier.

The colonel strode out to meet him. "Jim, I thought you'd be bringing a search party!"

"They're coming. Sheriff Bird is rounding them up. I can't really explain now, but Phalah is here to help." He turned away to help the two women down from the buggy.

Daniel Richmond came down to meet Estelle, and Jim had to wonder, the way he embraced her, whether his brother had told him what they found in Greave's journals about Mary Beth's death. When Jim asked, the colonel told him that the dead men had been moved into the barn. Silently, Jim took Phalah's arm as they walked there. She had told him on the way out that she wanted to be able to visit the corpse.

The others followed. Jim knew they were bewildered, although when he glanced back he saw how Estelle was speaking quietly to Daniel and Caroline who were near her. She might be explaining her aunt's abilities. Daniel was already aware of some of it.

Jim threw the barn doors open then prevented the others from following Phalah inside. They stood at the door as she approached the three blanket-shrouded forms on the floor. She might have seen the fine boots extending out from under one, or she might have simply sensed which was Farnley Greave. In any case, she knelt beside that form and carefully put her hand on it.

"Jim, what the devil is this?" the colonel demanded beside him. Before Jim could respond, Caroline moved up to take her husband's arm and draw him back. Jim glanced back as she began to talk earnestly to the colonel, seeing the growing astonishment on James Richmond's face.

After a few minutes, Phalah rose, and turned back, her face somber. "I was not able to grasp much," she said quietly. "He's been… gone… too long. But I know the trees and the door mean something."

Jim turned around to Daniel, asking the same question he had posed to the sheriff. Daniel had a similar response. He could not think of a specific hill like that. Jim then walked over to the men lingering by the corral. One man was certain he had seen such a hill. Because most of his time had been spent here on this ranch, he was fairly certain it was on this property. The Greave acreage extended to the barren hilly area that bordered the area.

"But what could the door mean?" Caroline asked as they all walked toward the horses and vehicles.

Phalah shook her head unhappily. "Mrs. Richmond, if I knew, I would tell you. It's all… fragmentary. Perhaps when we find the hill, we'll know."

"It could be an old mine," Daniel pointed out eagerly. "I know that the first men in this area thought there would be precious metal—gold or silver—in those hills."

The colonel told Jim that the men who remained were the ones who had been hired more for their working abilities than their guns—or so they told him. They all also felt extremely badly about the two girls and wanted to help in any manner. Jim then summoned the men over, asked one to remain behind to guide the sheriff's posse when it arrived, and told the others to mount up and come along.

As he mounted the black horse again, Jim West wondered at himself. He was pinning everything on this woman's supposed ability to read the future, to sense things others could not. All he knew for certain was that she had been right about the danger to Artemus, Elizabeth, and Annie. He prayed she was correct about the hill. But what could the door possibly mean? Miners did not always put doors at the openings of their tunnels. Would one still be standing solid enough to be used as a prison, after all these years?

Upon reaching the area at the base of the hills, the party moved slowly, staring at the hills, looking for anything that might resemble a door and in particular, the three trees. The specific hill did not come into view immediately, but as the group moved along the base of the rising ground, Nathan suddenly spotted it, as he stood in the back of the buckboard Bradley was driving. "There! There it is! There it is!"

Jim saw it then, and spurred his horse ahead, knowing the others were hurrying behind him. The sun was beginning to lower deeply in the west. The trio had been missing for over six hours now. Without knowing their circumstances, Jim had no idea whether the length of time increased the peril of the missing. All he knew was that the darkness of night would not be their friend. There would not be much of a moon tonight.

He reined in, staring up at the three scrubby pine trees. One appeared to be about to fall over, but they were plainly visible in this particularly barren vicinity. The area where he and Artie had crossed had possessed much more vegetation than this. Off in the distance he saw signs of mining activity, the caved in entrance of an attempt to find riches. The cave-in was not fresh.

_But no door is in sight._

Colonel Richmond came up alongside him. "Jim…?"

Jim shook his head miserably. He had hoped against hope that the door, or something resembling a door, would be plainly visible. All he saw was rocks and dirt, scraggly bushes, a few tufts of tough grass here and there. This area was even more arid than where they had emerged from the hills their first day. It obviously would not even support cattle, so no fences had been built beyond the ones further back to prevent the steers from straying into the barrens.

He twisted in the saddle toward the men who had accompanied them. "Spread out and look. We don't know what we're looking for but… just look."

He dismounted then to help Phalah and Estelle down, while the colonel and Daniel did the same for Caroline and Marian. Estelle went immediately to the colonel's wife and daughter, stepping in between and taking their hands, speaking encouragingly. Phalah came to Jim's side.

"What do you want me to do?"

Jim sighed. "Let's… let's just walk around…"

She nodded. "We're going to find them, you know."

"Alive?" Jim could not keep the bitter despair from his voice.

Phalah did not respond, walking on ahead of him. After a moment, Jim followed her. He looked around. Although they had not spied the hill immediately, he now realized that it actually could be seen from a wide vista once beyond the terrain that had blocked it from their view. _They could be anywhere in a two square mile area!_

Phalah headed straight for the base of the hill. They were halfway to that spot when Jim heard the approach of more horses. Telling Phalah to go on, he sprinted back to meet the sheriff and about twenty men. More were coming, Bird assured him. Jim asked them to simply spread out and keep looking—although he could not tell them what they were looking for, just signs of recent activity.

Even as he said that, Jim wondered. Greave had been so sure of himself, apparently positive the captives could not be found. Had he, or the men who helped him, been so clever as to obliterate all signs? The frustration boiled anew. He could understand Daniel's feelings. Daniel's little girl and his niece were in danger. Yet if he had not acted on his rage, Greave might still be alive, and might have been persuaded to reveal their location.

_We can't dwell on that. I'm sure Dan realizes it as much as I do. Artie's here somewhere. Give me a sign, pal. Give me a sign!_

He saw Phalah up ahead. She had stopped in a bare area, and was standing still, her head down. Jim increased his pace to move alongside her. "Phalah?"

She did not move for a long moment, but then finally lifted her head. "The door is here. Somewhere. I know it, but I cannot see it!"

Jim stared around. No signs of any mining activity were visible, nor did he see any fresh markings to indicate recent visits. "Artie!" he yelled abruptly. "Artie!"

Every other person in the hunt halted, staring toward him. The Richmond clan began moving in his direction, but Jim waved to them to halt. He yelled his partner's name again, and then fell silent.

Phalah caught her breath. "There! There!" She was pointing to the ground a half dozen feet in front of her.

Jim had heard nothing, and he saw nothing, but without questioning, he strode forward. As soon as his boot heel struck it, he knew. The hollow sound… "Help me!" he yelled to the others, dropping to his knees and using his hands to dig at the dirt. He felt the hardness just a couple of inches down. Not rock, but wood!

With the others helping, they found the edge of the wooden covering, and within moments, lifted and threw it aside. Jim fell down on his stomach, leaning over the gaping hole. "Artie?"

Down there, ten or a dozen feet below, the afternoon sunlight streamed to reveal the wonderful scene. Their eyes were watering profusely in response to the sudden brightness, but all three were climbing to their feet, Artie lifting Annie into his arms.

"Hey, James. What took you so long?" His voice was raspy.

Someone brought ropes and within minutes the hostages were being lifted up into the fresh air. Jim stood silently alongside his partner, watching the family reunions, where real tears were being shed. Canteens were passed around and Artie drank deeply.

"Did Greave crack?" he asked then. His legs were feeling a bit shaky, but he tried to disguise it.

"Greave is dead. You have Phalah to thank for being found."

Artie looked at him, puzzled. "Phalah? What…?"

"I'll explain later. Glad to see you again, Artie."

Artemus grinned at his normally taciturn partner. "I'll second that. When I heard your yell, I felt like the world had lifted off my shoulders."

"Did you call back?"

"We all did. But our throats were so dry—I'm surprised anyone heard us. Or did you?"

"Phalah must have," Jim replied softly. He saw that she was standing on the periphery, watching the celebrations. Jim walked over to her, knowing Artie was following. He took both her hands. "I'm still not certain I'm a believer, Phalah. But regardless, I thank you, with all my heart."

She smiled then. "I couldn't tell you before—I was afraid to raise false hopes just in case… but I knew we would find them well and alive."

"How did you know that?" Artie asked, coming up.

"Because I held Mr. West's hand earlier, and I sensed no grief in his near future."

The Richmond family came over then to extend their gratitude to Phalah. Like Jim West, they did not entirely comprehend it, but were aware that she had played a large part in finding their children. Daniel then invited the entire group to come to the Rolling R tomorrow afternoon for a celebration and to show their gratitude for the assistance all offered.

W*W*W*W*W

"Why the devil didn't you tell me?" Artie stood at the end of the bed, glaring at his partner, who was seated and jerking off his boots.

Jim did not look around. "I'm not sure."

Artie remained quiet a long moment, his irritation softening. Jim had just told him the entire story, relating how Phalah had given him the warning about the danger and the subsequent events. "Because you didn't want to admit you believed," he said quietly.

Still Jim kept his back to him. "I don't know if I believe now. But…"

"But?"

Finally, Jim stood up and faced his partner. "But we've seen a hell of a lot of strange things. Stranger than this."

"True enough." Artie peeled off his jacket now, hanging it in the wardrobe then removing his gun belt. The colonel had found his gun in Greave's house when he went inside to look for the remainder of the journals, while waiting for Jim to return to town. The shaken housekeeper had showed him where she had seen Greave place it, unknowing at the time of its significance. The pistol, with its initials in gilt, was special to him.

Jim unbuttoned his shirt slowly. "What would you have done if I had told you?"

"That's a good question. Perhaps been a little more alert. But I don't know. Would that have changed anything? Or only the circumstances? Was it simply going to happen, regardless?"

Jim shook his head, smiling slightly. "Too deep for me."

The two girls had been fed and washed, and put to bed, fussed over by their parents and siblings. Annie, unsurprisingly, appeared to be recovering more rapidly from the ordeal than her older cousin. She was already talking about putting on a play for her friends to depict the incident. Artie had seen by Elizabeth's face that at this moment she preferred to forget the whole deal. He had no doubt, however, that once back in her Washington home and school, she would be happy to regale her own friends with the entire tale.

"It's just as well that Greave is dead," Artie said then, sitting down to extract his feet from his own boots. His arm felt much better; Caroline Richmond had cleaned and rewrapped the wound, applying some salve she found in a cupboard. "The revelations from those journals are going to be horrific. I wonder just how many he murdered? Women especially. We found the entries about the woman in Canada and Mary Beth Richmond. I know we'll find ones about Leona. What kind of man commits such crimes and then writes it down for posterity?" He answered his own question. "Mad men. It's just a shame that he wasn't stopped a long time ago."

"Mad men are often brilliant men," Jim responded as he crawled under the blankets. "We've known a few."

"Don't we? They seem to gravitate toward us. Why is that?"

Jim sighed noisily. "Artemus, stop asking these unanswerable questions!"

"I haven't asked the most unanswerable one."

"What's that?"

"Why you always hog the blankets!" Artie tugged on the coverings as he settled in. "I'm moving back to the hotel tomorrow!"

"I was thinking of that myself. Meals at Ma's are waiting."

"Only meals, James?"

"Good night, Artemus."

**THE END**

_Den Bosen sind sie los, die Bosen sind geblieben _

[The Evil One has left, the evil ones remain.]

—_Faust _(I, 6, 174), Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832) German poet


End file.
